The Darklist
by Cheryl Dyson
Summary: When Draco Malfoy, wanted criminal, strolled into the Ministry to give himself up, he seemed destined for Azkaban until he offered to hand over information to avert an upcoming crime. Of course, he refused to divulge that knowledge to anyone but Harry Potter.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: I did not know anything about The Blacklist prior to H/D Smoochfest this year, but the prompt sounded intriguing. Additionally, Taradiane demanded that I write for it, so I started watching the show and was instantly yanked in and hooked for life. I LOVE IT SO HARD. Therefore, I tried to imbue Draco with a bit of Red's brilliant, adorable personality whilst still keeping him essentially Draco, and since Harry already has many of Lizzie's qualities, well, that bit was easy. Some scenes will be recognizable from the series, but I hope to have altered them enough to cause surprise. Anyone not familiar with the series need not know anything about it to enjoy this fic, and if you choose to seek it out afterwards-and you totally should-then the spoilers herein are minimal. Thank you, Tara, for giving me a new obsession and I hope you enjoy this tribute I've written to the amazing show. The title was my tongue-in-cheek working title and I meant to change it, but I grew to like it so well that it now remains.

**Part One**

**13th June, 2005 - Monday**

Their footsteps rang on the pavement as they walked. Draco thought the sound was decisive, confident, and not at all hesitant or nervous. Of course, the echoing, not-quite-in-synch clomping could not really be assigned an emotion; it was simply a sound, after all, and yet it comforted him all the same, despite the fact that the echo was muted due to the pelting raindrops.

"Are you sure about this?" Blaise's features were indistinct due to the Umbrella Charm that surrounded his upper body, but even with the droplets dribbling down between them, Draco could picture the dark look sent his way. He smiled and his footsteps slowed. "When have I ever been uncertain about anything?"

Blaise eased his pace to match Draco's. "Not in a bloody long time, but this is insane."

"Well, you know insanity runs in my family."

"Not funny."

Draco punched him lightly on the arm, although Blaise didn't budge at the gesture. His slenderness was deceptive; Blaise was built like a granite statue. "Oh, do lighten up! This will be a _lark_!" He turned and started away, but Blaise's fingers snagged at his sleeve.

"Draco—"

Draco offered him a steady stare, meeting Blaise's dark eyes though the haze of the Charm. "Blaise. Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Blaise let go of his wet sleeve with a heavy sigh. "I'll visit you in Azkaban."

Draco's grin returned and he tsked as he turned away and headed for the entrance. "Such scepticism! I could drown in it!" He gave Blaise a jaunty wave and went to meet his fate.

oOo

Draco's footsteps rang as he walked the length of the Atrium. It wasn't particularly busy, as he'd purposely chosen 1:15 in the afternoon. Most of the staff would be back in their offices, lethargic from consumption of their lunches and not quite ready to tackle their waiting workloads. A few lesser employees scurried past and their disapproving looks were more likely because of his cloak shedding water on the wooden floor than from recognition of his face. He hadn't set foot in the Ministry in years. Not since his fateful trial, actually, nearly a decade prior.

When he reached the security counter he took off his hat and dropped it onto the countertop. "Hold onto this for me, won't you, Mrs Dearborn? I'll be wanting it back, as I'm rather fond of that one."

The bushy-haired witch blinked at him and put down the scroll she'd been scanning. She frowned. "Do I know you, sir?"

"Probably not, but you will in a moment." Draco deposited his wand in the golden analysis device and watched as it began to vibrate. A slip of paper spat out and she took it.

"Ash. Twelve and one quarter inches. Centaur-hair core. Been in use… six months? Is that correct?"

"Indeed. I had an incident with my last one. Broom accident. It was _spectacular_. I was nearly killed. My leg mended, thankfully, but my wand was a total loss. Such a pity."

"If you would stand on the scanner, please." She indicated a square upon the floor that glowed with a faint yellow outline.

Draco nodded as he unfastened the frogs of his wet cloak and shrugged out of it. He draped it over the counter next to his hat, ignoring her frown of dismay, and walked over to stand upon the square. As he did so, he held out his arms and crossed his wrists as if waiting for the application of bonds.

Two heartbeats later, the Atrium lit up like a holiday parade. Lights flashed, alarms blared, the Welcome Witch squeaked and dove behind the security counter, and three Aurors appeared next to Draco with wands held threateningly.

"Draco Malfoy!" one yelled over the din. "You are under arrest for… well, for a huge assortment of crimes. Fraud, burglary, attempted murder, coercion, bribery—"

"Oh, stop. You are making me blush. If you don't mind silencing this racket, I would like to speak to Kingsley Shacklebolt, at once."

"You would, would you? Well, we'll see if he's of a mind to speak to you. You're coming to Auror lockup." The Auror, a man Draco vaguely recognised from his school days—a former Gryffindor, no doubt—gripped his bicep roughly.

Draco hissed. "Gently! This is an Endovanera original! It was not designed for wrestling and probably cost more than your annual salary. Hershberger is a genius with pleats, don't you think?"

The Auror gave him a disbelieving stare, but he let go and then cast a Cuffing Charm. Metal bands appeared around Draco's wrists, glowing with a silvery light that would not be easily countered. The Auror's wand snapped towards the lift in a rough gesture. "In you go. And don't try anything or you'll be in a Full-body Bind before you can blink."

Draco gifted him with a condescending smile and entered the lift on his own. The three Aurors crowded in after him, each of them looking as though they would prefer to cut him down where he stood. He shook his head sadly. Such animosity. What had he ever done to them?

oOo

Ron Weasley's ginger eyebrows nearly concealed the piercing blue currently stabbing into Draco from just beyond the iron bars.

"Well the hell are you up to, walking in here like that?"

Draco crossed one leg over the other and adjusted the pleat on his pale grey trousers. The cuffed hem was slightly damp above his black designer shoes. He probably should have used an Umbrella Charm, but he'd always thought that wearing a hat and using a charm together to be redundant. He would rather be damp than unfashionable.

"I am only speaking to Shacklebolt, Weasley. In case they forgot to send you the memo."

"I'm Head Auror here and you'll talk to me whether you like it or not."

"Head Auror, indeed." Draco smirked.

Weasley took the bait. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco gave him an enigmatic look and examined the bindings on his wrists. They weren't particularly tight, which was a bit of a surprise. The Auror— Finnigan, Draco finally remembered—apparently hadn't as much reason to hate him as some of the others.

"We've got enough on you to toss you into Azkaban and throw away the key!"

"Do shut up, Weasley." Draco leaned his head back against the stone wall and closed his eyes. "And let me know when Shacklebolt gets here. It's been a long day and I'm rather tired." He waited for Weasley to retort, but he heard only a muttered oath and then angry footsteps stamping away.

What had to have been more than an hour later, Draco was dragged from his cell by two different Aurors, a hard-faced woman and her burly companion. Without a word, they ushered him to the lift where they descended to level ten. Draco did not think they would have had time to convene the Wizengamot, so he was not surprised when they bypassed the ancient courtroom for a metal door some distance down the rough-hewn corridor. Inside, a single, rectangular stone table occupied the centre of the room, with a stack of files thereon, edged with several uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs. A lone chair sat to the left side of the table and a scattering lined the opposite side. Ron Weasley was stood next to one and Quentin Quartermain—the Minister's Undersecretary—waited behind another.

The Aurors shoved Draco into the single chair, disconnected his handcuffs with a spell, and bound them to each of the chair arms. Draco smiled. "Is this really necessary? I don't plan to leap across the table and throttle Weasley, tempting though it might be."

Quartermain nodded at the Aurors, who departed. The door clanged shut behind them and Quartermain took a seat. He was a tall, distinguished-looking man with cropped silver hair, steely blue eyes, and a nose like a hatchet. "Draco Malfoy. Would you like to explain why you waltzed through the front doors and turned yourself in? You have been a wanted criminal for quite some time. Rather high on DMLE's Most Wanted list, if you did not already know that."

"Your list." Draco snorted. "We'll get to that later. I'm not here to talk to underlings. Where is the Minister?"

Quartermain had a cold smile that reminded Draco unpleasantly of his own father's. "The Minister cannot be bothered with petty criminals such as yourself."

"Hardly _petty_ if I'm 'rather high on the Most Wanted list', wouldn't you say?"

"Regardless, we will not be bothering Kingsley with your foolish demands."

Draco shrugged. "Then it will be on your head. Some unpleasantness is coming your way and you would be wise to take precautions. But if you'd rather not accept good advice when it's offered…"

"What sort of 'unpleasantness' and what sort of precautions?"

Draco gave him a condescending smirk. "Well, now, there is a snag. I'm afraid I won't be simply coming out and telling you all about it. I will only speak to Shacklebolt or Potter."

Weasley, who had sprawled in a chair next to Quartermain, made a sound of disgust. "Yeah, right. I should have known you had some deeper plot in mind."

"Auror Potter is on a personal sabbatical."

"He'll return when he hears what I have to say. Feel free to fetch him now. I will wait."

Weasley barked a laugh. "You're dreaming, Malfoy. We're not fetching anyone. You'll talk to us and you'll do it now." He pulled a vial from his Auror robes and placed it on the table.

"Veritaserum? Really? I haven't even been formally charged."

"We have enough evidence to bring you in for questioning," Quartermain countered.

"Bring me in? I walked in of my own accord. I am here to offer you idiots a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"The only _beneficial arrangement_ you're getting, Malfoy, is life imprisonment." Weasley's tone was derisive as he got to his feet and snatched up the vial.

"Are we skipping trials these days and going straight to sentencing?" Draco frowned at Quartermain. "Undersecretary, I am disappointed."

"Open up, Malfoy," Weasley said.

Draco considered resisting, but given Weasley's tense stance, he was hoping for such an eventuality. He probably couldn't wait to pry Draco's jaws open by force. With a single roll of his eyes, Draco tipped his head back and opened his mouth. The Veritaserum tasted vile. He didn't even need to swallow it for it to be effective; within moments he could feel the potion numbing his tongue and stealing warm fingers into his brain.

_Relax_, he told himself, _and keep your wits about you. This was expected_.

Weasley sat back down. "Lie," he said. "When I ask, tell me your eyes are orange. Now, what colour are your eyes?"

"Ora—grey." The answer bubbled forth, unrestrained.

"Brilliant." Weasley reached for the stack of files and opened the first one. "Did you know Jameson Newark?"

"Personally? No, I did not."

"But you know who he was."

"I read the _Daily Prophet_. Of course I know who he was."

"Did you kill him?"

"Of course not. I was in Bulgaria at the time."

"Did you pay someone to kill him?"

"No, I did not." Draco felt a bit smug about that one. "Pay" suggested the transference of funds, whilst "trade" was just different enough to keep his negative response from being restrained as a lie.

"Do you know who did?"

Draco was curious how the Veritaserum would handle that one. He couldn't suppress a slight relaxation of his shoulders when he replied, "No." He _had_ known, of course, but he'd conveniently left that memory at home in a small vial and, at the moment, he hadn't the faintest idea of the killer's identity. Veritaserum had its failings, something the Ministry tended to ignore with their obstinate reliance upon it.

Weasley frowned and shoved the file aside to grab another one. "Dartmouth. Did you know that the Chillabuck Tavern was a front for a potions smuggling ring?"

_Fuck_. "Yes." The drawback, of course, was that he couldn't possibly remove every memory.

"And how did you know about that?"

Draco sighed and let the words come. "Ashleigh Greene was an acquaintance. How long do you intend to ask these ridiculous questions?" Draco looked at Quartermain. "I came here in good faith to offer you vitally important information and you are only interested in old news and two-knut cases. I can give you bigger fish than Ashleigh Green and his ilk. They are minnows in the cesspool and you don't even know about the sharks."

Weasley opened his mouth and Quartermain lifted a hand to silence him. "What sort of information?"

Cursing the Veritaserum, Draco replied, "Information on crimes that haven't been committed yet." He glared, knowing that even his skill would not prevent Quartermain and Weasley from clawing at the data that was Draco's Golden Snitch. He had wagered everything on the hope that Shacklebolt would be honour-bound to meet with him. He hadn't counted on the Minister's underlings keeping Draco's presence from him completely.

"Tell us what you know about—" Quartermain's words were cut off when the door banged open.

"Would someone like to tell me what is going on here?" Kingsley Shacklebolt entered with a billowing of official red robes. He was trailed by a tall, dark figure and Draco nearly sagged in relief.

"Just… questioning a prisoner, Minister." Weasley's voice sounded strident.

"What has he been charged with?" The question barked forth from the man accompanying Shacklebolt, and Weasley looked decidedly uncomfortable. Quartermain merely looked angry.

"This is Solicitor Flint. Mr Malfoy's legal counsel."

Draco was pleased to note that Marcus Flint looked even more intimidating in expensive, professional robes than he ever had in Quidditch gear back at Hogwarts. His brown hair had been slicked back and his bushy brows nearly hid his black glare, currently spearing Weasley to his chair. "Indeed I am. And I repeat, what's he been charged with?"

Weasley indicated the stack of files, but before he could speak, Draco said, "I haven't been charged with anything. Apparently they found it necessary to force a confession out of me via Veritaserum rather than do any tiresome Auror work and dredge up some actual evidence."

"We've got enough on you to hold you for suspicion in a dozen cases!"

Shacklebolt's expression was thunderous. "You two will face disciplinary action for this breach of procedure! Auror Weasley, I believe you are allowing your emotion to cloud your professional judgment. And Quentin, I am appalled. What were you thinking?"

Quartermain still seemed unruffled. He shrugged. "Sorry, Minister. I got a bit overzealous with Malfoy, here. I'll take these up to Robards and have him file some formal charges. We called the game before the Snitch was caught, I admit." Quartermain got to his feet and Summoned the files with a flick of his wand.

Flint's snarl was venomous. "You did, indeed, you smug bastard. And you'll be getting a bloody letter from my office about it, I guarantee you that." Draco thought it sounded impressive, despite the fact that a letter demanding recompense would get buried in Ministry red tape until Draco was ninety and everyone present knew it.

Quartermain ignored Flint. He inclined his head. "Minister."

"I'll speak to you in my office when I'm finished here, Quentin."

"As you wish." Quartermain strolled out. Draco maliciously hoped the lift malfunctioned and slammed the bastard around until he resembled mincemeat. He filed the idea away for future consideration.

"You may stay, Auror Weasley. In an official capacity, although I would prefer you not speak to Mr Malfoy." Shacklebolt took the seat that Quartermain had vacated and Weasley halted in the act of escape. He glanced at Flint and then walked back to sit down.

"Thank you, Marcus. You may go." Draco gave him a fleeting smile.

Flint paused, looking uncertain, but then he shrugged and started out.

"But don't go too far. I may need your services," Draco added.

"I'll be in the Atrium." The door closed behind him, finally leaving Draco with the person he'd needed to meet with all along. The bloody Ministry and their fucking inefficiency.

"Well, this has all wasted quite a lot of time. Thank you for that, Weasley." Draco gave him an absent sneer. "I am here to warn you, Minister, that someone is planning to do severe harm to someone on your staff."

"Who?"

The Veritaserum wanted Draco to reply, but the question could have referred to either "someone"—the harmer or the harmee—and his response came out as a strangled "gah" sound. Kingsley frowned.

"I realise it is unethical to question you under Veritaserum. However, considering the circumstances, I doubt that you walked in here to simply turn yourself in out of a sense of overwhelming guilt, so I would like to know precisely what it is that you want."

"I want protection. And I want to talk to Potter." Both of those things, at least, were perfectly true.

"Protection from what?"

"Protection from _whom_ would be more accurate. Although a specific answer has not yet revealed itself. Let us just say that I am willing to give you information—quite a lot of information, actually, but in the process of doing so my enemies will begin to crawl out of the woodwork in an effort to stop me."

Before Shacklebolt could ask, Draco held up a hand. "Since I am currently under the influence of Veritaserum, you might ask me any number of questions and I might spill all sorts of valuable information right now, but it will be grudgingly given and I will do my damnedest to thwart such an attempt. I leave it to you to decide whether it will be wiser to extract what I know in dribs and drabs by drugging me and asking random questions for hours while I attempt to prevaricate as best I can—and believe me, _I can_—or if it will be easier to simply listen to my request and allow me to elaborate in a fashion that will be mutually beneficial to us all."

Shacklebolt sat back in his chair. His expression was unreadable. "I'm listening."

"Excellent. Now, here is what I want. First of all, as I said, I am willing to give you information that will lead to the capture of many rogue Death Eaters, murderers, thieves, and wretched villains of whom you are not even vaguely aware. You have a list of people you would love to see in Azkaban. I have my own list. In some instances the names thereon are interchangeable. In others, you do not even know that these people exist and _those_ are the ones you need to be concerned about."

Shacklebolt said nothing. Draco glanced at Weasley, somewhat surprised that the ginger Auror had managed to hold his tongue for an extended period of time.

"With that said, I will only impart this information to Harry Potter."

"Why?"

The truth was multi-layered and several potential answers warred for release, threatening another undignified sound, but Draco selected the strongest and forced it to the forefront. "Because I trust him." Draco fixed a cold stare on Shacklebolt. "I cannot say that about anyone else in your organisation. Present company included."

Weasley sat forward, apparently spurred to comment at long last, but Shacklebolt's raised hand stopped him. "Harry is on leave and has implied that he might leave the Auror Department for good. What if he refuses to return?"

Draco let a smirk slip through. "Let me talk to Potter for five minutes. He'll be back."

oooOooo

Rain hammered on the window, drawing Harry's attention from his handful of cards. "Merlin," he muttered, "is this rain ever going to stop?"

"Wettest year in ages," Eddie said and dropped a two of hearts atop the pile.

Harry considered the card and decided against picking it up. He took one from the deck instead and made a petulant moue of disgust as he tossed it onto the discard stack. A useless six of clubs. He should have taken the two.

"Least it's warm and dry in here." Eddie smiled at him and Harry grinned. He was lucky to have found Eddie, who was patient and kind, and had allowed their relationship to progress as glacially slowly as Harry needed. Harry's coming out had been unpleasant, to put it mildly, and had left him with little more than the urge to lock himself away in Grimmauld Place and never make a stupid attempt at finding love again. Thankfully, a random encounter with Eddie Carmichael at Quality Quidditch Supplies had changed his mind—and his life.

"Indeed it is. And it could get warmer yet." Harry placed his cards face-down on the table and got to his feet. He sidled around the table and joined Eddie on the sofa, sitting close and dropping an arm over his shoulders.

"Cor, is this a ploy to get a look at my cards, sly one?" Eddie clutched them to his chest and gave Harry a sidelong grin.

"Maybe I'd rather play a different game," Harry said, trying to sound suggestive.

Eddie's brown eyes went soft and dark and he tipped his head to meet Harry's kiss. Harry's pulse jumped and he fought down a spike of nervousness. Eddie had been so bloody patient. It was time. Harry was finally ready.

A whoosh from the fireplace startled them both. They pulled away as a face appeared in the flames. "Harry, are you here?"

Harry blinked and got to his feet. "Ron?" He hurried to the fireplace and knelt. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, mostly. We've got a bit of a situation at the Ministry. Kingsley wants to see you."

"What sort of situation?" Harry frowned. He had been having second thoughts about being an Auror, and meeting Eddie had only added to those doubts. Eddie sold Quidditch supplies and he had been trying to coax Harry into joining his business rather than remaining with the Ministry. Eddie hated to worry about him, and Harry's long hours and terrible stories had added such strain to their growing relationship that Harry had finally taken leave in order to sort out his priorities. Things had become so much better between them that Harry knew he'd made the right choice.

"Top secret, I'm afraid. Shouldn't take long. You'll be home by supper, probably."

Harry glanced at Eddie, who was frowning. His cards were still clutched in his hand. Harry tried to reassure him. "I don't think they would ask if it wasn't important."

Eddie nodded. "You should go. I'm sure they need your expertise." He smiled and did not sound in the least sarcastic. Harry felt a surge of affection.

"You're the best, Eddie." He turned back to the fire. "I'll be right there, Ron." He stood and went to find his shoes. Whatever it was, he would deal with it and then come back and reward his boyfriend properly. And after that he would be done with the Aurors and he and Eddie could move on with their lives. Together.

oOo

"Draco Malfoy?" Repeating the name for the third time hadn't given Harry any clearer understanding of what Malfoy wanted.

"He asked for you specifically. Says you're the only one he trusts. That sounds like a load of malarkey to me, but whatever. The Veritaserum's worn off by now. Pity, that. Now we won't know if half what he's saying is true, but Kingsley insists on doing this by the book, especially after my little fuck-up, although I only dosed him because it was Quartermain's idea. Did you know Marcus Flint is a barrister?" Ron shook his head. "Wouldn't even have thought that one could read."

"I still don't understand."

"Malfoy's got information that he'll only give to you. It's ridiculous, really, since you're just going to pass it straight on to us and then go home, but there you have it."

"All right."

The lift doors pinged and then opened. Harry followed Ron past the courtroom that held too many memories and into a small, cold room beyond. Draco Malfoy sat in a hard-backed chair, looking relaxed despite his wrists being manacled to the chair arms. His gaze snapped to Harry when he walked in, but he gave no sign at all that he even recognised him.

"Hullo, Malfoy," Harry said as he dragged out a chair on the other side of the table and sat down. Malfoy looked tired and… different. His hair had been cut short. It stuck up in attractive tufts that were probably considered "artful" or something. Harry decided he preferred it the way he'd last seen Malfoy, peering out fearfully from under his blond fringe. Harry remembered it had been just long enough to brush the collar of his robes in the back; he'd admired Malfoy's hair often enough in school, although not much else about him. There was no trace of animosity in Malfoy's stare now, and his formerly-pointy features had hardened into what seemed to be porcelain, or granite. If anything, the years had made him even handsomer, short hair notwithstanding.

"Potter. Nice of you to drop in."

"Try anything at all, Malfoy, and you won't leave this room in one piece."

Malfoy's stare did not waver from Harry's at Ron's words. "Thank you, Weasley. Your empty threats have been duly noted. Goodbye."

"I'll be right outside the door, Harry." Ron whirled and stomped out. He slammed the door behind him, leaving Harry alone with Draco Malfoy.

A smile curved Malfoy's lips, upping his attractiveness even more. Harry made himself remember Malfoy's many alleged crimes. According to the files, he'd been instrumental in a ridiculous number of offences, from potion smuggling to fraud to murder. Evidence, however, had been difficult to nail down. Mostly it was circumstantial.

"Don't you look like the very _picture_ of health?" Malfoy's voice was cheerful and had a deeper timbre than Harry remembered. "Apparently the softer life agrees with you. I almost feel like a heel for dragging you away from sweet Eddie's arms."

Harry's lips thinned. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Oh, I'm quite sure they explained it to you, so I'll get right down to it. I have information that there will be a kidnapping sometime this week. I don't know who the victim is, so don't bother to ask. The perpetrator, however, will be Fenrir Greyback."

Harry shook his head with a tight smile. "Is that really what you've brought to bargain with? Greyback is in Azkaban, and has been since the war."

"Is he really?"

"I think we would have got word of a breakout."

Malfoy made a noncommittal sound. "Indeed. Would you have got word if someone had smuggled in an imposter and then had that imposter take Greyback's place under the guise of Polyjuice, whilst setting the werewolf free with no one the wiser?"

Harry allowed that to sink in while he weighed it for validity. "That's impossible. The imposter would have to keep taking Polyjuice to maintain the disguise!"

Malfoy tipped his head back and looked at the rough-hewn ceiling as if bored. "You might check the medical records for Fenrir at Azkaban. I'm fairly certain someone has authorised a daily medicinal potion to 'keep his werewolf side suppressed' or something to that effect. Feel free to send someone out to check. I'll wait. Again."

Harry got to his feet and hurried to the door where he had a quick, muted conversation with Ron before returning to the room. "Why would someone do that?" he demanded. Ron was confident that Malfoy was having them on just to be an arsehole and send them all running amok before he was sent to Azkaban, but Harry wasn't so sure. It would be foolish for Malfoy to turn himself in unless he had a serious motive. His explanation to Kingsley had seemed disturbingly rational.

"Any number of reasons. Fenrir is a fairly loyal employee when given the right motivation, as evidenced by that whole Dark Lord business; he's fairly talented with a wand; and he's utterly unscrupulous. Also, he has a thing for children."

Harry dropped into his chair, fearing he wouldn't like the answer to his next question. "And what do you mean by that?"

Malfoy leaned across the table as far as his bonds would allow, as though imparting a dark secret. "Because Fenrir is planning to kidnap a child. Given his particular history, I assume the victim will be between six and eleven years of age. I also suspect it will be the child of a Ministry employee, since I've spent the past few days analysing the data."

"What data? Where did you hear about this? And how do you know about Greyback, assuming what you've said is true?"

Malfoy returned to his former relaxed position. "One of my reliable contacts is a former member of Fenrir's pack of renegade werewolves. I supply him with Wolfsbane Potion and he supplies me with information. He came to me with a ridiculous tale that Fenrir had returned. Believe me, I was as sceptical as you, having kept up with news both printed and unprinted. But it checked out. And Fenrir, being Fenrir, had to brag about his upcoming plan, hence the titbit about the kidnapping. Frankly, we're lucky he has such a big mouth."

Harry watched Malfoy. "Why wait for me? Why couldn't you have told this to Kingsley and Ron?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Weasley wouldn't have believed me and Shacklebolt is on my list of suspects."

"_What?_"

"Honestly, Potter, your knowledge of politics is as abysmal as your ambition. People who live and breathe in the political realm are either seeking power or attempting to hold onto it. One must not only fear those scrabbling and clawing for a foothold at the bottom, but also those at the top of the mountain waiting to kick the others down before they reach the summit."

Harry glared. "Kingsley's not like that."

Malfoy only smiled. "Why did you allow Weasley to take the Head Auror position?"

"I didn't _allow_ him. He applied for the job and got it."

"Because you did not apply."

"I didn't want it. And there is no guarantee that I would have got it over Ron even if I had applied! That sort of twisted thinking is one reason I'm leaving the Auror Department."

"Are you?" Malfoy's tone of amused disbelief rankled.

"Yes, I am."

"Because everyone expects you to act like the Chosen One or because they are beginning to expect it less and less?"

Harry scowled. "How certain are you about this child?"

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't certain."

"Fair enough." Harry rose and went to the door again, more to escape Malfoy than to impart the information. Harry thought they should take him seriously, even if Ron turned out to be right and it was an elaborate game on Malfoy's part. Ron was no longer in the hallway; he'd been replaced by Seamus Finnigan.

"Hey, Seamus. Can you tell Ron to run a check on all Ministry employees with children between the ages of six and eleven? Malfoy thinks there may be an attempted kidnapping on one of them."

"That will be a pretty big list. I can think of three offhand."

"Yeah, but I think we'll need to start somewhere. If we find out Malfoy's right about Greyback, we'll need to move quickly on this."

Seamus nodded and trotted towards the lift. Harry went back inside.

Malfoy grimaced at him. "Say, Potter, is there any chance of you taking these off?" He lifted his hands and waggled his fingers. "I've been in this chair for hours and I'm getting one devil of a cramp in my lower back."

Harry considered the ramifications. Malfoy was wandless, so even if he managed to somehow subdue Harry and escape the room, there was no way he would get out of the Ministry. The lifts had been warded against him and Apparition wasn't possible from most of the lower levels. Harry shrugged and flicked his wand to release the magical shackles.

Malfoy heaved a sigh and frowned as he raised his arms and began to massage his wrists. The white shirt he wore had loose cuffs and as they slid back, Harry could see the merest edge of Malfoy's Dark Mark before Malfoy stretched his arms apart and rotated his shoulders. "Merlin, that feels better. Now I could use a glass of wine and a visit to the loo. I don't suppose you lot plan ahead for things like that?"

"Um… I've never been in this room before. I'll see about your loo request. Pretty sure he'll deny you the wine, though."

Malfoy sniffed. "Likely it would be undrinkable swill, anyway."

Instead of making another trip to the door, Harry cast a Patronus and sent his stag galloping through the wall and off to Kingsley. When the afterimage had faded, he sat in growing silence until he thought anything might be better than staring at the table in order to keep from studying Malfoy. He attempted conversation. "So, what have you been up to since Hogwarts?"

Malfoy stared at him for so long Harry thought Malfoy had misheard. He opened his mouth to repeat the question, but Malfoy said, "I'm a criminal, Potter. Surely you know that."

Harry flushed. "I meant when you aren't doing… whatever it is you do as a criminal. The evidence in that regard is rather sketchy, as you might know. Do you plan to confess?"

"Interesting segue. From small-talk to asking for a confession in one baffling statement. Well done, Potter. And no, I do not plan to confess. If you and your Ministry masters want me in Azkaban, you can work for it."

Malfoy looked away and Harry stewed in the awkward silence, unable to think of a way to open a conversation that wouldn't lead them eventually to blows. Thankfully, the door opened to disclose Kingsley.

"Well, Mr Malfoy, one part of your story checks out. The man in Fenrir Greyback's cell was not Greyback, after all. When fed the counter-agent to Polyjuice, he was revealed to be a petty criminal we've had in and out of Azkaban so often he practically has a dedicated cell. It seems he was only too happy to take Greyback's place and receive three meals a day and shelter from the elements in a familiar place. Additionally, he was offered a hefty sum when the game was up."

"Does he know who hired him?"

"A young woman, who appeared to be about nineteen with amazing thighs, according to him. Obviously, the perpetrator has a goodly supply of Polyjuice and isn't sparing in its use."

"How long has he been pretending to be Greyback?"

"Three days."

"That's a lot of Polyjuice. We could start tracking down the ingredients through various dealers."

"Don't bother," Malfoy said. "They know how to hide their tracks. Even if you find an order for a cauldron full of boomslang skin, the paper trail will lead to a foreign company whose headquarters mysteriously burned down and none of their employees can be found. Obviously, a front."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I've already done that. It leads nowhere. The only way to find Greyback is by getting to his victim before he does. If you waste precious time backtracking will-o-wisps, you will fail."

Harry hated to admit that Malfoy was right. He exchanged a glance with Kingsley and a small smile at the corner of the Minister's mouth told him that Kingsley had already sent out people to follow the potion trail anyway. At this point, it was impossible to tell if Malfoy was being truthful or if he was actually the ringleader of the plot—if one even existed.

"Mr Malfoy, I prefer it if you remain in this room for the time being. There is a toilet and sink there that you may use—" Kingsley swished his wand and a door opened out of the blank stone at one end of the room. "The door will remain open until you exit, but it has some semblance of privacy. Additionally, I will have a meal brought down to you. If there is nothing else you're willing to give to us this evening?"

Malfoy shrugged. Harry thought it looked unnatural on his frame, as though his usual grace fought such a common gesture. "I have nothing more, at the moment. But if a message should come for me, it might be wise for you to deliver it."

Kingsley seemed to ponder that for a moment and then he nodded. "All right. I have little doubt that I will be talking to you soon. Do not bother attempting to leave. This room is as impenetrable as we can make it. There is a bed and a change of clothes if you wish to sleep." He cast another spell and a section of wall swung down to reveal a thin mattress, flat pillow, and several folds of material that were likely blankets and sleeping robes. Harry thought it looked more comfortable than the holding cells in the Auror Division. "Harry, come along."

Kingsley headed for the door and Harry trailed after him, glancing uncertainly from Malfoy to the Minister. He wasn't completely certain why he was involved. Malfoy's voice halted him in his tracks. "Potter."

He turned to see Malfoy still seated. His arms rested on the chair as though his bonds had never been freed. "Malfoy?"

"I won't talk to anyone but you. I will see you tomorrow. And keep a close eye on Eddie, won't you?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Malfoy rose and walked towards the doorway that led to the loo. "Just keep your wits about you."

Harry scowled at his back, shook his head, and went out.

~TBC~


	2. Chapter 2

**14th June, 2005 - Tuesday**

Harry stared blearily into the wisps of steam that curled up from his tea in gentle spirals. It was too hot to drink, but he considered it anyway. He'd spent another hour at the Ministry the previous night, talking over the case and theories with Kingsley, and trying to convince him that he had no idea why Malfoy had sought him out specifically.

Eddie had been surprisingly understanding, despite Harry telling him next to nothing. "They need me to help with something, I'm not back on active duty," Harry had insisted upon arriving home. He'd stopped off for take-away curry.

"It's only natural that they want your expertise," Eddie had said. "No doubt they'll continue to ask for your services for years to come. It will be your choice whether to wean them off slowly or make a clean break."

Harry had searched that comment for censure, but Eddie had seemed sincere about it being Harry's decision whether or not to quit the Aurors for good. Despite Malfoy's cryptic words, Harry saw no reason to mistrust Eddie. It was likely Malfoy was just… being Malfoy.

Shaking his head to return to the present, he watched as Eddie slid a rasher of bacon onto a plate and added a spoonful of fluffy-cooked eggs. "How long do you think this will take?" Eddie asked as he set the plate before Harry and kissed the top of his head.

Harry took a drink of his too-hot tea and winced when it burned his tongue and the roof of his mouth. "Not sure. It depends whether or not there really is a case. At the moment, the evidence looks promising, but it could be that someone is screwing with us."

"Hopefully you'll be free this weekend. I've made plans for us to have lunch at Scotia and then we can tour the gardens. The roses are in bloom and it's so beautiful. You have to see it."

Harry smiled at him. "It sounds great. I won't miss it."

Eddie's smile was adorable. Harry reiterated that he was a lucky man.

oOo

Malfoy was seated in the same chair he'd occupied the day before, although it had been fitted with a white tablecloth that looked out of place amidst the stark surroundings. He was tucking into a large plate of food. A full tea service hovered on a tray just above the table. Malfoy's grey stare touched on Harry and then returned to his breakfast, although a quick jerk of his head indicated that Harry should sit.

"They prepare a decent breakfast. I am surprised, considering that last night's dinner was largely inedible. The breakfast staff is to be commended. You might want to suggest a salary increase. And fire the idiots on the evening shift."

"I'm not here to talk about your meals. Kingsley said you got a message last night, but they can't read it and you won't talk about it."

"Correction—I won't talk about it to _them_, but I will discuss it with you." Malfoy took a folded note from next to his plate and handed it to Harry.

Harry took at it and then tipped the paper to examine it from different angles. "It looks like gibberish."

"It's a rather obscure language. My were-mole overheard something that might be important. He believes the word was "unspeakable" which leads me to believe the target might be the child of someone in the Department of Mysteries. Of course, it could refer to Greyback, in general, but at this point it's the only lead I've got."

"Why didn't you just tell Kingsley? Why drag me into this?"

"Because I'm worried about you, Harry, and I'm trying to protect you."

Harry could not prevent his jaw from sagging open, not only at the words, but at the friendly, sincere-sounding tone. Malfoy's eyes sparkled, betraying the lie. Harry shot to his feet and glared at Malfoy. "Very funny. I'll go tell them to narrow the search. Also, you're an arsehole."

Rather than return to the irritating man, Harry joined Ron, Seamus, and a female Auror who smiled at him when he lifted a hand. She had long blond hair pulled into a tight knot. Harry liked her, despite her overly-gruff exterior. Her name was Kimmy Klein, but they all called her Kay-Kay. The four of them surrounded a huge conference table that had been piled high with record books and scrolls.

"Didn't think there were this many children in all of wizardom," Ron said and surveyed the growing list in the centre. Whenever they found a child of suitable age, they added it to the list. It was already daunting.

"After the war, everyone spent the peaceful years that followed shagging, remembering what they were alive for," Seamus said philosophically.

Ron snorted. "I didn't."

Harry laughed out loud. "I'll bet it wasn't for lack of trying."

Ron grinned. "I'm always trying, mate. You know that. Luckily, she's up for it quite a lot these days. They say the female sex drive is—"

"Too much information, Weasley." Kay-Kay's voice was strident and Seamus fell out laughing.

"Merlin, if I had a Galleon for every time I had to put a stopper in you idiots' sex talk, I could retire in the Bahamas. Wait a minute, look at this. I think I found something," Kay-Kay poked at an open book with an index finger. "Liam Nottingham. His son is nine."

"So? Add him to the list." Ron shrugged.

"While you lot have been mindlessly jotting down names, I've been cross-referencing their parents against Greyback's record. Says here that Nottingham gave instrumental testimony in putting Greyback in Azkaban. He was a witness to one of Greyback's bloodier crimes in '97. Think the werewolf might want some payback?"

"Merlin, that might be it. You're smart!" Seamus gave Kay-Kay a slug on the arm. She didn't flinch, but gave him a sidelong stare of warning. He grinned.

"Ron, go and fetch Nottingham. Seamus, get Kingsley. I'll go talk to Malfoy. Kay-Kay, try to dig up the original case file and we'll see if we can find a connection, someone willing to free Greyback in order to extract some revenge. There has to be more to it, but our first priority is protecting the boy."

It wasn't until Harry was halfway back to Level Ten that he realised he'd issued orders without even thinking about it.

oooOooo

Draco patted his full stomach and stretched out on the bed. It was hellishly uncomfortable, but he'd slept on worse. He hadn't lied about the breakfast, either. The crumpets had been delicious and the tea had been strong and hot. Draco wondered if the quality would have remained the same if the cook had known it had been destined for a Malfoy. He wrinkled his nose. They probably would have slipped poison into it, or at least an explosive laxative.

The door unlocked to reveal Harry Potter. He looked even more serious than he had earlier and Draco sat up. "You've found something."

Potter nodded. "Kay—Auror Klein thinks there might be a connection between Liam Nottingham and Greyback. And Nottingham has a nine-year-old son."

Draco nodded. "Good point. Of course, twenty people testified against Greyback and every member of the Wizengamot judged him into Azkaban, but it's as good a place to start as any. And Nottingham is an Unspeakable. What do you plan to do about it?"

"Inform Liam, and then go get the boy, of course."

"I suggest haste."

"Yeah. We're going now. I just thought you should know."

Draco gave Potter a genuine smile and then lay back on the stiff mattress as Potter departed. Liam Nottingham. Interesting.

oooOooo

Nottingham was a tall, slender man with prematurely greying hair and nearly-colourless blue eyes. His face was enflamed with rage and he slammed a fist down on the table. "This is unconscionable! I should be the one to go!"

"We don't know that this isn't an elaborate trap to capture you, Deputy Nottingham. Or even if the threat is real."

"He's my son! I don't care if it's real or not! I want him protected!"

"We've already sent Aurors ahead to scout your mother's house. I'll be on my way as soon as you can give us the layout."

"Do it, Liam. The sooner you help them, the sooner Niall will be safe." Cho Chang's voice was soft and Liam gave her a piercing stare that she met and held for a long time. Harry found himself holding his breath and then Nottingham nodded and dropped heavily into a chair. He pulled a piece of parchment close and snatched up a self-inking quill. As he drew, Harry glanced at Cho. She had changed somewhat since their school days, having acquired an air of confidence that she hadn't possessed at Hogwarts.

"Where did you get this information?" she asked Kingsley.

"We have a source whose veracity is currently in question. I prefer not to reveal their identity, in case it turns out to be nothing more than smoke. With that said, we still need to take the tip seriously."

"Damn straight, you do," Nottingham muttered.

Cho patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sure the Aurors will do all they can." She smiled at Harry and he nodded. Cho's hair had been cut short and she wore wireframe glasses that she must have only used for reading, as she looked over the top edge frequently. She had joined the Department of Mysteries straight out of school and had risen to the top of their ranks at lightning speed. "Do you mind if I come along, Harry? Liam should remain safely here, but I am a fair hand with a wand, and I've been to his mother's house, so I can Side-Along you."

"I remember your wand-work. It's fine with me, if Kingsley approves."

Nottingham's hand shook as he handed over the rough sketch of a floor plan. "The house is warded, of course. If anyone tries to get in, they'll likely go for the back, or possibly the side entrance here, if they know about it." His long finger tapped a rectangular block that indicated a door. "Niall's room is upstairs, here."

"We'll bring him back," Harry promised. He took the makeshift map and then stepped closer to Cho.

Two short Apparition-jumps later and they stood between a tall laurel hedge and a wooden building that had once been painted red, but now displayed a faded, dusty pink that peeled away in places to show the grey wood beneath. Harry wondered if Nottingham had freed his house-elves, or if they were simply old and careless. Nottingham was a pure-blood and his property was fairly extensive. A droplet of water hit Harry on the top of his head; rain fell in an unpleasant drizzle, but at least it wasn't a downpour.

Cho had her wand out. She peered around the edge of the shed. "Everything looks quiet. Where are these Aurors you sent ahead?"

"Not sure. We sent them with invisibility cloaks, but they wouldn't want to trip the wards. We told them to hang back and watch for anything suspicious."

"All right. I'll take the lead and you cover me. We'll go in the front by the stealthy method of knocking on the door. It will be faster and less alarming if this turns out to be nothing. And Greta knows me."

Harry nodded. They left the safety of the shed and raced across the close-cropped lawn—at least that had been well-maintained—and Harry scanned everything visible on their way to the front door. A high brick wall and hedges bordered the entire property, giving ample concealment to any lurking enemies. No spells shot from cover and no warning cries rang out. Harry stood with his back to the wall as Cho banged the brass knocker. His blood pounded in his veins and the brick was rough at his back. He realised with a start that he'd missed this: the thrill of the chase and the excitement of running into danger.

The door opened with what seemed infinite slowness. Harry risked a quick glance to see a tall, steel-haired witch standing with the door ajar. "Ms Chang, dearie! What brings you here? Is everything all right with Liam?"

"Yes. Everything is fine. May I come in?" Cho smiled at her, but Harry noticed that she didn't put her wand away.

The old woman stepped back and swung the door wide. Cho stepped inside and Harry pushed in after her, causing the witch's hands to rise up to her face with a gasp. Cho shut the door behind them and cast a Locking Charm whilst Harry walked a fast circuit of the room and peered into every doorway, a spell ready on his lips.

"What is this?"

"I'm sorry, Greta, but we may have a situation. Where is Niall?"

"Up in his room. You said everything is fine!"

"Everything is fine and we are trying to make sure it stays that way. Do you mind if I go up and fetch Niall?"

"I'll go," Harry said, already heading for the hallway that led to the stairs, according to Nottingham's sketch.

"Who is that?" Greta's shrill demand carried to him as he took the steps two at a time. He was glad not to be around for the revelation of his identity. People were still weird about it, even after all this time.

The door to Niall's room was open and Harry tensed when he heard the boy talking. He pressed himself hard against the wall and edged closer, listening intently. After a moment, he realised the boy was playing with his toys. He smiled when he clearly heard, "Oliver Wood swoops past Mercury Horowitz and sends the Bludger in for a goal! And Dartmouth pulls ahead! The crowd goes wild!"

Harry peered into the door to see a sandy-haired boy sitting on his knees on the floor of a large bedroom. He held a toy Quidditch player in each hand and the Oliver Wood doll was waved at the collection of plush animals and assorted historical witches and wizards clustered round the makeshift pitch as an audience.

"Niall?" Harry asked quietly and the boy gasped and scrambled to his feet. The Oliver action figure hit the floor and tumbled before climbing to his feet and shaking his fist at Niall.

"Who are you?" The boy backed away and climbed onto his bed. His eyes were wide and fearful.

"My name is Harry. Don't be frightened. I'm an Auror. I'm here to take you to your father."

The boy shook his head and a mistrustful frown marred his features. "Why didn't he come himself?"

"The Minister for Magic asked him to stay. Do you know who that is?"

"I think so."

Harry walked carefully around the side of the bed, hoping to sit down adjacent the boy and calm him. He didn't want to scare the child by snatching him, and there did not seem to be any danger at the moment.

"Do you like Mercury Horowitz? She's my favourite, next to Oliver Wood." Niall held out the action figure.

Harry took it with a smile and admired the detail on the tiny Quidditch gear. The ginger-haired girl waved at him, holding her broom protectively to keep him from crushing the bristles.

"Gran!" Niall yelled suddenly and launched himself from the bed. He hurtled across the room and threw himself at his grandmother, who stood in the doorway, looking worried. Harry took a step towards them and wondered why Cho hadn't kept Greta downstairs.

A large shape loomed behind Greta and a clawed hand clutched at her throat. Niall's head twisted to look up at Fenrir Greyback and he gasped. Before he could move, Greyback's other hand snatched the boy by the shoulder and flung him out the door and into the waiting hands of another man.

Harry had leapt off the bed and lifted his wand, but Greyback snarled, "If you as much as twitch, Potter, I'll tear her throat out."

Harry froze, knowing Greyback wouldn't hesitate. He wondered where the other Aurors had gone and how Greyback had managed to get into the house without the alarm sounding, but he couldn't spend more than an instant considering it. The second man and Niall had already gone; Harry could hear the boy's muffled screams as they retreated. Greta's eyes rolled wildly and sobbing gasps broke on the word, "Please…" Greyback's claws tightened.

"Now, I'm going to take the boy and it will be your choice whether to save this old bag of bones or come after me. Either way, one of them will die. Perhaps both." With that, Greyback cast a spell, shoved Greta hard, and bolted. Harry cast two spells in quick succession—one of them took a chunk out of the door frame, but missed the werewolf. The bastard was fucking fast.

"_Cho!_" Harry bellowed as he leapt forwards and caught Greta before she fell. Already, her face was beginning to turn red—Greyback had cast a Strangulation Charm and Harry's _Finite Incantatum_ had no effect.

He cast a Patronus and hoped Cho hadn't been taken—or worse—and then he set to work dismantling the Strangulation Charm. Greta thrashed wildly, hands flailing as she struggled to find oxygen. Her wrist banged into his wand, nearly knocking it from his hand. Forcing everything else out of his mind, Harry tightened his grip on his wand and focussed on finding the cracks in Greyback's spell, tearing them apart with a modified _Finite_. It was delicate work, usually used only in Curse-breaking when time was not of the essence.

Cho appeared in the doorway just as Harry cracked through and shredded the last of the Strangulation Charm. Greta inhaled air with a tortured sound and her fingers tightened on Harry's sleeve. The reddish-purple colour began to fade from her face.

"They took the boy!" Harry yelled at Cho. "Didn't you see them?"

"No! I heard something in the kitchen so I went to check it out, and then I came straight up the stairs—they must have exited through one of the other rooms!" Cho disappeared and Harry gave Greta a weak smile and squeezed her hand before leaping up and tearing after Cho, who slammed open the door nearest them and ran to the open window on the other side of the room.

"There!" she yelled, pointing.

Harry joined her and they cast at the same time. Greyback and the other man were fleeing through the garden. The boy had been flung over Greyback's shoulder like a sack of grain. He wasn't moving. Harry's Stunner hit a Shield Charm and rebounded. Whatever Cho had cast did the same. Harry swore roundly and cast twice more, but the distance was too great. Greyback and his companion dove through a wooden gate in the stone fence and vanished. Harry imagined he could hear the crack of Apparition.

He climbed out through the window, knowing they were already gone, but needing to be certain. His stomach was in knots. "Get Greta and I'll meet you back at the Ministry," he called as he trotted down the sloped roof and then leaped off into the wet grass, rolling to absorb the impact. He didn't bother to look back to see if Cho had argued, instead pelting into the garden and slamming through the gate. Rolling hills of thick grass stretched away and unless Greyback and the others were hiding prone in the grass—unlikely—they were long gone. Harry made an incoherent cry of rage and headed back to the house.

In his left hand, he still gripped the small Quidditch figure of Mercury Horowitz.

oooOooo

Draco was not particularly surprised when Potter returned looking ready to inflict damage on anyone in range. It was a good look on him and Draco felt a surge of something he hadn't felt in a very long time. Part of it was lust, but that was a simple emotion, easily sparked and as easily ignored. This was something deeper, desire swirling atop a dark pool of things Draco had repressed and rejected for so long that he'd nearly forgotten they existed. Foolish things, like anticipation and hope, and a tiny bit of awe; emotions Draco would prefer not to dredge to the surface, but then he'd never been able to ignore Potter.

"Where is he?" Potter's voice was a sword blade—sharp and whisper thin.

"To whom are you referring?" Draco set aside the book he'd been reading, but he did not bother to rise from his cross-legged position on the hard bed. Terrible as it was, the comfort level was minutely greater than that of the chairs.

"Greyback. He escaped with the boy. I don't care how you find him, just do it."

"I can hardly utilise my resources from here, Potter." Draco cast out a careless hand to indicate his surroundings.

Potter shook his head. "Kingsley won't let you out. You could have engineered this entire thing."

"To what purpose?"

Potter pushed a hand through his hair in a gesture Draco hadn't seen in years. It brought an unexpected wave of nostalgia that took Draco straight back to Hogwarts. He shoved it away; now was definitely not the time.

"I don't know! But it doesn't change the facts. You said you have a contact in Greyback's old band. How do we reach him? We need leads."

"You _don't_ reach him. He is mine, and I definitely do not need you clumsy lot Apparating all over Britain stirring up my information network. You've done enough damage already by letting Fenrir escape."

"I didn't _let_ him escape!

Draco got to his feet and glared at Potter. "If you had taken me seriously immediately instead of debating my motives for hours on end, you would have gone straightaway to the boy and he would be safe now."

"Assigning blame isn't helping anyone." Potter's eyes were like green fire.

"Spoken like someone on whom the blame firmly rests."

Potter's fists clenched and he stepped forwards. Draco felt the unexpected surge again and it left him nearly giddy. He wanted Potter to touch him, even if it were only to shove him against the wall hard enough to crack his skull. Draco closed his eyes to shut down the vision and get a handle on his emotions.

"Never mind, Potter. You needn't get so worked up quite yet. It's obvious they want something." He walked to the table where a silver tea service waited, along with two delicate porcelain cups.

"They?"

"Think about it. Why Liam Nottingham? Someone went through a lot of trouble to procure Polyjuice, smuggle it into Azkaban via unsuspecting guards, release Fenrir with none the wiser, and for no purpose other than kidnapping a boy and turning him into a werewolf?" Draco shook his head. "No. It's too complex. They want something other than petty revenge."

Potter was staring at him as though he'd morphed into Voldemort's ghost. "Such as what?"

Draco smiled. "We will just have to wait and see. Sit down and have a cup of tea."

"I'm not going to sit and have tea while that boy's life is at stake!"

Draco lifted the silver teapot and poured a cup of the steaming brew. "There is always some boy's life at stake, Potter. You can't save them all. And in this case, either the boy has been bitten or he has not. Pacing this cell and worrying about which it is will not do one iota of good, so you might as well sit down and try to focus on the things that will help you locate him."

Potter gifted Draco with another hot glare, but he stalked to the table and sat down. Draco poured him a cuppa.

"Where did you get that?" Potter asked, indicating the tea service.

"Kingsley allowed me to send for it. We had a _lovely_ chat whilst you were out. Such a dear man, if a bit bull-headed and single-minded, and possibly a bit stiff and humourless. I wonder what his wife is like in bed. I'll bet she's not terribly adventurous. Have you traced the Polyjuice potion?"

Potter blinked at him and dropped a spoonful of sugar into his tea. "Yes. The potion was being supplied by a small shop in Knockturn Alley. When we got there, the place had been cleaned out. The owner didn't know much about the man who'd leased it from him. Turns out he'd given a false name and always paid him Galleons in person, never a bank transfer. We're still trying to track him down, but it's looking unlikely that we'll find him. Funny that his shop is gone. It's almost like someone tipped him off."

"Oh, pish. Criminal types frequently panic and pull up stakes. Although in his case, he was probably alerted the moment the Aurors showed up at Azkaban to ask questions about Fenrir. How is the tea?" Draco smiled innocuously. Draco hadn't tipped the man off; he had _paid him off_ and relocated him to another city. Potions smugglers often had brilliantly useful networks. And he'd extracted a large amount of useful information from the man, some of which might even assist Draco's current cause.

Potter set down the cup and licked wetness from his upper lip. "It's good. Look, are you going to have anything useful for me at all?"

"Such impatience. Very well. Let's talk about Fenrir. People are creatures of habit and they don't like change. Often the best way to locate a criminal is to try and think like them. I assume they taught you this in Auror School, but since you've taken a sabbatical to shack up with Eddie Carmichael, perhaps you've forgotten." Potter scowled and opened his mouth to speak, but Draco held up an index finger. "Now, in Fenrir's case, suppose you were released from prison and given one simple mission to accomplish before being allowed to run free and do as you liked. Obviously, time is of the essence, so what do you do?"

"I… Well, we know he went back to New Forest and rounded up some of his old pack members."

"Yes. Fenrir, while clever, is not necessarily intelligent. He returned to a familiar location and surrounded himself with familiar people. What does this tell you?"

Potter's eyes widened. "That he might have taken to boy to one of his old haunts!" Potter leapt to his feet and ran for the door.

"You see, Potter? There is always time for tea."

The slamming door was Draco's only thanks.

~TBC~


	3. Chapter 3

Harry had planned to go home for lunch, but instead he had to send Eddie an owl cancelling. He met with Ron and Kingsley, Cho, Liam, and Kay-Kay inside the conference room with the largest table. Files, maps, and a huge selection of legal scrolls covered the wooden surface. A larger map of the region had been affixed to the wall with Sticking Charms. Ron placed a glowing yellow dot on a small village near Exeter.

"This is where Greyback grew up, although he was never seen there after he left home. I'll mark it as low probability."

Harry added an orange dot. "This is where he bit Remus Lupin as a child. He spent quite a lot of time in this region, so he probably knows it well."

Cho stepped up and pointed at a dark green area with her wand. "There were many reports from this village, after the war, of a pack of renegade werewolves the area." Harry placed a red dot there and frowned; there were already too many dots to easily cover in a short time, and even if they sent out Aurors now they would have no idea what to look for. Greyback could be holed up in any house, shack, or cellar.

Cho placed a hand on Harry's arm. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I should never have left Greta. If I hadn't, he wouldn't have been able to use her as a weapon against you."

He gave her a wan smile. "You're not a trained Auror. You did what you thought was best."

Of the Aurors that had been sent ahead to Greta's house, two had been incapacitated by Greyback, despite the fact that they had been wearing invisibility cloaks. Ron had later explained that Greyback's superior sense of smell had probably decreased the cloaks' usefulness. Another Auror had entered through the kitchen door—drawing Cho's attention—and she had sent him back out to scout for danger just before hearing Harry's cry for help. Basically, it had all been a load of bad timing.

"Still, I feel terrible. Poor Liam. I need to do whatever it takes to get his son back." She glanced over at Nottingham, who sat at the table. He looked utterly broken and had barely spoken a word since their arrival.

Harry nodded. "We'll get him back." He didn't bother to reveal that it had been Draco Malfoy's words that had given him his only shred of hope for that prospect.

A knock sounded on the door and Kay-Kay opened it to admit Seamus. "Minister! A message! It's from Greyback!"

Everyone in the room converged as though drawn by a magnet. Kingsley cracked the seal. He read it and then handed it to Harry. "Merlin."

Harry skimmed the words. Some of them jumped out at him. **_50,000 Galleons. Release of prisoners from Azkaban. 24 hours._**

"He wants a ransom."

"That's great news!" Ron burst out.

Nottingham shot him a venomous look. "Great news? Why would that be great news?"

"Because he won't harm the boy if he wants a ransom. We won't trade for damaged goods."

"_Damaged goods?_" Nottingham looked horrified.

Ron coughed and looked at Harry with a desperate roll of his eyes. Harry heaved a mental sigh. It was entirely possible the boy had been bitten, but as long as he was alive they would do their best to get him back safely.

Thankfully, Cho spoke before Harry could think of a suitably diplomatic response. "Liam, it is good news. It means that Niall is alive and as long as we comply with Greyback's demands, then you'll have him back again."

Nottingham's features were grey and pallid. "We are going to comply, are we not? I'll gladly pay everything I have. Everything. I'll do anything. I just want him back."

Cho patted his back. "Of course we are, Liam. Of course."

"I just want my boy." Nottingham's voice broke and he buried his face in his hands. Harry looked away to stare at the map. His vision blurred and he tried to focus on the bright dots they had made.

"The fifty thousand Galleons will not be that difficult to procure," Kingsley said, "but he is demanding the release of several werewolves from Azkaban. That will be tougher to arrange."

"Niall's life is in danger, Minister!" Nottingham burst out.

"I did not say it was impossible, only difficult. Harry, Ron, please come with me. Cho, if you don't mind, will you please stay with Liam for the time being? We will attempt to get this ball rolling and have Greyback's demands met as quickly as possible. Auror Klein and Auror Finnigan, please stay here and try to locate more potential sites for us to search."

"Of course, Minister."

In the hallway, Kingsley said, "I do not want this to become common knowledge and right now Liam Nottingham is a spell waiting to go rogue. We are going to collect the Galleons—Nottingham himself has offered the entirety although he doesn't have it all at the moment—but I am more concerned with finding the boy before the ransom payment becomes necessary."

"Agreed, but do we have any leads?"

"One. The owl that Greyback used was from a public mail service. I am certain he thought he would be anonymous that way, but that would be a mistake. It could be the break we need."

Harry nodded. Since the war, public owls had been marked so that they could be tracked back to their places of origin, mostly due to an increase in death-threats and hate mail sent by the pro-Voldemort contingent. The general public knew about the new regulation, but it was possible that Greyback had missed that legislation whilst incarcerated.

Greyback had included instructions regarding how and where to drop the money. He would arrange to exchange the freed prisoners for the boy after the Galleons had been received.

The owl was traced to a small village called Tallgarden. It was close to Brecon Beacons National Park, and a stretch of woods that they had marked with a high-probability red dot.

"All right. We don't want to flood the area with Aurors and draw his attention, so I'm just going to send in you, Ron, Kim, and Seamus to do some scouting." Kingsley's voice was low.

They split up. Harry took Polyjuice to morph himself into an unrecognisable, nondescript Italian Muggle. Since Muggles were careless with their hair, it was fairly easy to acquire the needed ingredients for undercover work. Harry took the public Floo to a local pub near the owlery in Tallgarden. There, he spoke to the barkeep about vacation spots, pretending to be planning a surprise getaway for his wife.

The man was garrulous and helpful, giving Harry the general layout of the town. "Are there any abandoned buildings or old structures?" Harry asked. "My wife is something of a history buff and she likes to draw. She is a bit silly about weathered things."

The barkeep clucked sympathetically. "Artists can be a funny lot, yeah? There is an old shack up past the north road. You'll see a stone bridge over the dry riverbed there—only fills in the winter, don't you know? There's a foot track next to the river that leads up into the hills. The shack is nestled up against an outcropping of stone. Used to belong to an old goatherd, but he died some fifteen, sixteen years ago, and the place is falling down now. Picturesque area, though."

"It sounds exactly right. Thanks, mate!" Harry left him a large tip and went out. A few villagers were out and about and Harry scanned the area for Ron, Seamus, or Kay-Kay, but they had all entered town via different methods and would also be disguised. He headed for the north road and after a twenty minute hike he spotted the shack in the distance.

Unwilling to alert Greyback should he be hiding inside, Harry circled around and approached the place from the side. One window was broken out and Harry poked his head up to peer inside. The quick glance showed little but dust and broken furniture. The place had obviously been stripped and vandalised by the locals. A rapid circuit disclosed no recent tracks leading to or from the place. Harry heaved a sigh of disappointment.

He walked to the edge of the outcropping and surveyed the scenery. The view was lovely; rolling hills thick with wildflowers stretched away in the distance. He wondered what had happened to the goats with the old man's passing and then shrugged off the random question. He turned to head back to the village when he noticed an old track skirting the hillside. With a flash of inspiration, it occurred to Harry that the goats would have needed shelter, possibly a barn or other structure.

Hopeful, he took the path at a fast trot, alert for unusual sounds or activity. Birds cavorted overhead, singing loudly. Nothing seemed out of place for a lazy summer afternoon, and the sun was shining, despite clouds gathering to the south that likely promised more rain. The ground was damp from an earlier deluge, which could work to Harry's benefit as any recent footprints would be clearly visible.

However, he saw none as he followed the path to a small structure that looked to be in better condition than the shack he'd left behind. He slowed as he got closer, and pressed his back against the wood as he peered round the corner—only to find that the building was nothing more than a shell. Two sides were open to the elements, covered with a sloped roof to make a covered shelter. It had never been a proper barn.

Defeated, Harry sighed and debated returning to the village. It was possible that Greyback was not even in the area, but had only Apparated in to send an owl. It would be a wiser move than Greyback had ever been known for, but perhaps whoever had freed him from Azkaban was also giving him guidance.

The track Harry had followed continued onwards, skirting the wooden fence and disappearing into the wooded hillside. Unwilling to concede the game just yet, Harry took the path at a slow jog. He assumed it would drop down to the river and in that he was right. Although the river was dry, a large pool of water appeared around a bend, resting in a still pond beneath an overhanging sycamore tree. It was picturesque and Harry took a moment to admire it. He had never spent much time in the country until their mad flight from Voldemort when he was seventeen, and he hadn't really taken the time to appreciate nature. It was difficult to slow down and take in the view when running for your life.

This, though, was enticing. The thought of owning a small house in a remote village with no madcap rush of people and constant low barrage of noise… Here there was only the whisper of wind rustling through the trees, the warbling song of birds, and the occasional chirp or buzz of insects.

And the sharp crack of a branch breaking.

Harry crouched and spun, wand held ready. He scanned the hillside and tried to still the sudden pounding of his heart. _Just a branch, Harry. It's probably one of the long-lost goats. Or some villager out hunting for firewood_.

Another snapping noise, and then another, gave credence to the firewood theory. Someone was either clearing a path or collecting wood. Harry pulled his invisibility cloak from the Hermione-charmed pouch he wore. It shimmered for a moment and then he tugged it on. Feeling steadier now that he was out of sight, he started carefully up the hill, avoiding brambles and branches that might snag the edge of his cloak. He placed each foot with care, stepping over dry twigs and staying away from anything that would rustle or crack to give away his position. He was thankful for the recent rains; even the dried grasses were pliable and compressed with a damp squish rather than crackling.

He followed the sound of the snapping wood and barely stopped himself from gasping aloud when he caught sight of Fenrir Greyback breaking a large branch with a spell. A collection of wood hovered in the air next to him and, as Harry watched, the branch he worked with broke into three pieces and topped the pile.

The urge to cast a hex was great, but Harry held back. Hopefully, Greyback would lead him to the boy. Harry scarcely dared to breathe and took a moment to give thanks that the wind was blowing towards him rather than away. If Greyback got the slightest whiff of him, the game would be up. Even as the thought occurred to Harry, Greyback paused and lifted his head. His slanted eyes darted right and left in a wary pattern and he stood tensely. For a moment, Harry thought he'd been scented, but then Greyback shook his head, snapped one more branch from the dead tree at his feet, and then turned and started up the hillside with the gathered branches floating behind.

Harry was about to follow him when he felt a lurch and a shift; the Polyjuice he'd taken had worn off. The flask was still in his pocket, but he might lose Greyback if he paused to drink it now. Ignoring the problem for the moment, Harry took off after the werewolf.

Greyback's pace was fast, forcing Harry to rush to keep up. He hurried from grassy hillock to grassy hillock, trying to remain silent whilst keeping Greyback in sight. They were headed away from both shack and river, and Greyback did not seem to follow any sort of path. The climb grew steeper and Harry hung back even more, afraid the wheezing of his breath would draw attention. He was in good shape, but propelling himself up a hillside at speed was far from easy. And he had been admittedly lazy in the past couple of weeks, lounging around the flat and taking Eddie out for rich meals and expensive wine.

He pushed aside the thought of Eddie with a pang of guilt. He had not expected to get drawn into the Malfoy situation, but since it couldn't be avoided he would have to make it up to Eddie somehow.

Greyback disappeared into a copse of trees and Harry sped up, sacrificing silence in order to keep from losing him. He slowed as he neared the trees before entering carefully, peering into the shadows and hoping not to meet a violent hex or the sharp stab of claws.

To his relief, he caught sight of the floating wood just before it vanished behind a stand of shrubbery covered in overgrown ivy. Harry thought he heard someone speak, so he took extra care as he moved forwards. He peeked around the brushy hedge and drew in a breath when he spied a dark slash in the hillside—the entrance to a cave. Merlin, they hadn't even considered caves in their list of probable places to search.

Harry took several steps into the gloom, wary of his cloak and taking care that it didn't rustle against the stone. Greyback, however, was making no move to be silent.

"…get cold tonight. Don't give me that look. I'm your friend. Your precious daddums is not even looking for you. Probably glad you're gone, he is."

Harry nearly charged ahead, but the fiasco at the boy's grandmother's house was fresh in his mind. Instead he turned and picked his way out of the cave as the sound of wood being stacked echoed behind him. He didn't go far, just around the corner from the entrance, before casting a Patronus to alert the others. Now was not the time to deviate from procedure and possibly get the boy killed.

The pale wisps of the Patronus had barely faded when a man stepped out from behind a tree, just at the edge of Harry's vision. Harry crouched, but another man appeared and the two began to walk towards him. They seemed relaxed and he let out a pent-up breath when he realised they hadn't seen his Patronus, or him.

"…think Fenrir has eaten the boy by now?" One of them nudged the other.

"Not yet. 'E's desperate fer them Galleons. Needs 'em to flee the country, or 'e'll be back in Azkaban the minute 'e shows 'is face."

Harry did not recognise either of them as they drew closer. One looked vaguely like an owl, with huge eyes and a curious haircut that left tufts sticking up on each side. The other resembled an underfed hound, with long strands of brown hair giving the illusion of droopy dog ears. The dog-eared one wore jeans and a short jacket-robe that was currently in fashion. The other had more traditional split robes and black trousers; the hem of his robe was tattered.

Harry debated Stunning them both, but decided that any disturbance might alert Greyback, who could teleport out with the boy. He decided stealth was the better option. Using the noise they made entering the cave as cover, Harry slipped in behind them.

Greyback had a fire going and the small space was thick with smoke, despite a ventilation hole in the ceiling. Harry's eyes went to Niall, who was bound near a darkened curve of the wall. The boy coughed, looking pitiful.

"Did you bring it?" Greyback asked. "We don't want the little brat dying of starvation quite yet."

The man in Muggle clothing slung off his satchel. "Got some crisps and tinned meat. A couple cans o' beans. And a bottle o' pumpkin juice. Kids like pumpkin juice, yeah?" He shook the bottle towards Niall, who stared back at him with no expression.

Greyback snorted and threw another branch on the fire. Clouds had begun to roll in whilst Harry had called the others and a gust of wind swept through the cave, sending a shower of sparks up towards the ceiling. Harry used the distraction as cover to move quicker, sidling around the two newcomers to get close to the boy.

Harry's plan was to Apparate out with Niall then pop back in to take on Greyback, but that idea was bolloxed when Harry saw a thick iron manacle around the boy's ankle, and a short chain wrapped around a nearby boulder. He swore inwardly; there was no spell that could cut a chain silently. He would have to do this the hard way.

"Crack open one of those bean cans," Greyback growled. "I'm hungry."

The man crouched and used his wand to spell open the can. Harry took off his cloak and slung it over the boy. In the same motion, he cast a murmured Stunner at the owl-faced man. He knew Greyback would be the most difficult to take down—one Stunner wouldn't do it. The other two watched owl-face topple for a shocked moment and then sprang into action. The can fell, spilling beans into the fire as the man leapt to his feet, but Harry's _Expelliarmus_ snatched the wand from his hand.

Greyback was fast, as expected, spinning and casting a Piercing Hex with a snarl, but Harry had already moved, drawing fire away from the boy. Although invisible, Niall could easily be hit by a stray spell. Harry needed to get them outside.

"_Potter!_" Greyback spit-snarled his name.

"_Fuck is the boy?_" the dog-haired man yelled, scrambling to reach his wand. Harry cast a _Protego_ to counter Greyback's spell, and then Summoned Dog-eared's wand on his way to the entrance. Another _Protego_ countered Greyback's spell and he thought he felt claws graze his calf, spurring him to greater speed. As he burst through the entrance, he smiled with joy when he beheld Ron and Kay-Kay.

Harry instinctively dove and rolled and a bolt of red light carved a furrow into the ground where he'd been. Two spears of light passed him and he heard Greyback howl as he bounced to his feet and turned.

"_Expelliarmus!_" he shouted again and felt a smug sense of pride when Greyback's wand wrenched from his hand and sailed through the air. Harry caught it just as Ron and Kay-Kay's spells dragged the werewolf down.

Harry didn't wait for congratulations. He raced back into the cavern to find it empty, although a desperate groping caught the edge of his invisibility cloak. He sighed with relief as Niall's scared features were revealed.

"Hi, Niall. I think you're safe now."

The boy did not look reassured. "You're the man from Gran's house." His voice was a hushed whisper.

"Yes, and I came to rescue you. I'll take you to see your father now. All the bad men have been taken care of." _Except one_, he thought to himself and wondered where the dog-eared man had gone. "Now, let's get these chains off."

Several careful spells later, the manacle fell away and Niall threw his arms around Harry's neck. He held the boy tightly and then drew back to pull the Mercury action figure from an inner pocket.

He handed it to Niall. "Here, I kept her safe for you."

Ron trotted in and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Great work, mate. Kay-Kay took Greyback to holding. Are we done here? I got this one" He poked at Owl-Face, who glared at him from his Full-body Bind.

"Yeah. There was another, but I'd rather get Niall home than spend time looking for him. Let's go."

Niall tugged at Harry's sleeve. "Mister Harry? You can keep Mercury. She brought you good luck to find me, didn't she?"

Harry crouched down and took the Quidditch figure with a feeling of near-reverence. He smiled and squeezed Niall gently on the shoulder. "That she did, and thank you very much. I'll keep her always. Now, let's get you home."

Ron cast a spell that doused the fire and then they all Apparated straight to Auror Headquarters.

oooOooo

Draco let no expression touch his features as Potter spun his teacup in a slow circle on the table top.

"So, it looks like we owe you a debt of gratitude," Potter finished lamely.

"That must have hurt," Draco observed. "Would you like a Healing Charm?"

Potter gifted him with a wan smile. "I'm just glad the boy is safe. And he wasn't bitten. I would like to have brought in the third man, however. I can't figure how he escaped, since I have his wand. He couldn't have Disapparated."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Draco said and gave Potter a toothy smile. In truth, Blaise had barely managed to Apparate into the cave and pull out Desmond before the Aurors had rushed back inside. Draco hated to lose valuable resources; and Desmond was his key to most things related to the werewolf community. Even better, now he owed Draco a favour.

"That's easy for you to say. We don't even know who is behind this whole thing." Potter's green stare speared Draco, but he shrugged off the silent request. Potter countered that by asking directly. "Do you?"

Draco sipped at his tea and then placed his cup on the saucer. "I have some ideas, but I need to follow up on them before I put forth any hypotheses. I'm sure you understand."

"Yeah. You probably need to think about what to ask for in return."

Draco chuckled. "No, I am quite certain what it is that I want in return."

Potter flushed and got to his feet. "Anyway. Thanks again. Kingsley will be down to talk to you. I need to go home. Merlin, it's been a long time since I've seen that much action. I'm exhausted."

Before Potter could stride to the door, Draco stopped him with an upraised hand. "Harry."

A cocked eyebrow met his utterance, and Potter's eyes were wide with surprise.

"I'm serious about Eddie. Don't trust him."

Potter's stare turned into one of disbelief, and then he shook his head and went out.

~TBC~


	4. Chapter 4

(This chapter is hella short, so I'm posting it today instead of waiting until tomorrow.) :D

**Part Two**

**25th June, 2005 - Saturday**

"What are you doing here?"

Malfoy glanced up from the menu and his eyes danced with merriment. "I am having a most excellent meal, Potter, as should you. I highly recommend the Braised Rabbit. The fennel adds that perfect touch that elevates it to haute cuisine, and yet the bacon brings it back to the comfort level of everyman. And you will be pleased to note they have treacle tart. I believe that is a weakness of yours."

"You know about that?"

Malfoy smirked and swirled the white wine in his glass before replying. "I know a great many things, Harry."

"And when did you decide to it was okay to call me Harry?"

"Stop being so uptight and have a glass of wine." Malfoy took up the bottle and sloshed half a glass worth into Harry's crystal goblet.

"You didn't answer my first question. Or any of my questions." Harry knew he sounded petulant, but he picked up the glass and took a drink and then glanced at the menu. Not many restaurants offered treacle tart, and the rabbit did sound interesting.

"I most assuredly answered your first question, which was 'What are you doing here?' but I will assume that what you actually meant was 'Why did they let you out?' so I shall enlighten you as to Shacklebolt's reasoning in permitting me to fly the coop. Primarily, he wants a man brought to justice and only I can give him that man."

"Why? And who is it?" Harry picked up the menu. He had been surprised at Malfoy's owl requesting to meet him at a Muggle restaurant, and now he was even more surprised to find Malfoy treating him as though they were old friends.

Malfoy shrugged. "No one to be particularly concerned with. Simply a soulless bastard who sells illegal potions to children. Every year he plants a middleman in Hogsmeade and routes potions through him to the kids during their weekend visits. And every year the middleman is arrested—after making a tidy profit—and then is quickly replaced by the next middleman. The Ministry has no clue about the identity of the ringleader."

"And you do?" Harry cocked an eye at him and dropped the menu. He'd decided to order the cod just to prove to Malfoy that his suggestions carried no weight.

"Of course."

"Then why can't you just tell Kingsley directly? Why drag me into it?" The past four days had been pleasant and Malfoy-free. Harry would have enjoyed them more if Eddie hadn't been called off to Wales to examine a new experimental broom bristle feature. They'd barely had any time together since the Greyback incident. Eddie had been the one to call off their planned garden tour on Saturday as he'd spent the morning packing and preparing his notes.

"Because I have no intention of waltzing back into the Ministry proper, I cannot send an owl with confidential information, Shacklebolt hates me, and the only person I trust to even deliver a bloody message is _you_. Therefore, you." Malfoy gestured at him with a fork.

"So, I'm a messenger now."

"A well-fed messenger because I am buying your dinner." He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. The waiter appeared so quickly he might have Apparated.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy. Have you decided?"

"We have, indeed. I assume you recognise Mr Potter, here. I expect you to grant him an appropriate level of obsequiousness. What do you prefer, Potter?"

"The cod. I'll have the cod."

The waiter bowed and cast a spell so surreptitious that Harry only saw his wand for a moment. The menus vanished. "Very good, sir. An excellent choice."

"The rabbit for me, Andrew. And bring another bottle. This one shan't be enough for the two of us. I, for one, am celebrating."

Andrew bowed again and disappeared as quickly as he'd come.

"What are you celebrating?"

"I am celebrating my freedom, of course. You have no idea how pleased I am to be out of that hole. Even this never-ending rain was a welcome sight after staring at four walls for days. And I shall not take a soft mattress for granted anytime soon, I assure you. Tonight I will sleep like the dead in my own bed. Or someone else's bed. I haven't decided yet."

Harry took a gulp of wine and tried to push away the image of Malfoy in someone's bed. It was not a bad image at all, and involved long, pale limbs, and blond hair falling over Malfoy's handsome face. Harry nearly groaned aloud and reminded himself that it had been too long since he'd been laid. His plans to sleep with Eddie had fallen through; Harry had been too tired and distracted to pursue the notion, and Eddie had been preoccupied with learning about his new product.

"Life is immensely satisfying, don't you think?" Malfoy continued. "It took me years to learn that, and to acquire the ability to appreciate the small things, such as braised rabbit and the exquisite bouquet of this Brunello di Montalcino." He lifted his glass and inhaled the fragrance. "And friendship, the most priceless thing of all. To our newfound partnership, Harry, reluctant though it may be. May our association bear fruit that is, in the end, mutually beneficial."

Harry waded through the words and had to wonder how much Malfoy had already imbibed—he seemed more than a little drunk—but in the end he raised his glass, clinked it gently against Malfoy's, and drank.

"What is this message you want me to deliver?"

Malfoy shook a finger at him. "Pleasure before business. It's my mantra. Tell me how you first learned that you were gay."

Harry's expression must have reflected his internal horror, for Malfoy chuckled.

"Never mind. It was all over the papers. Quite a newsworthy event at the time, yes? I admit I took clippings. I particularly enjoy the photos of you holding your hand over your face, as though to avoid recognition. I could have warned you that would never work."

"Why don't we talk about where you've been for the past eight years, instead?"

"Too personal? I apologise. Perhaps it would be easier for you if I admitted the first moment that I discovered I was bisexual?

"You… What?"

"My first crush was on a grown woman. Her name was Violetta de'Amberleigh and she owned a tea shop in Rome. We stopped in daily while we were on holiday and she always smelled of the ginger biscuits she slipped to me whenever my parents weren't watching. She doted on me terribly and she had the most amazing green eyes. Her hair was cut short in a black bob—which might explain my later attraction to Pansy. I've always been partial to dark hair… But I digress."

Harry was fascinated. Despite his unwillingness to disclose his own sexual history, he found Malfoy's to be very interesting. Malfoy paused as Andrew returned, Levitated their meals over and begged them to enjoy their food with such fawning graciousness that Malfoy actually applauded his performance.

When he was gone, Malfoy sampled his dish, made a sound of approval, and then continued his tale. "As I said, Violetta spoiled me terribly. Looking back, I'm not certain if she merely thought I was an adorable child, or if she had some issues with paedophilia." He chuckled at Harry's expression. "Fear not, she never behaved inappropriately. I was six years old and when we returned home I drew pictures of her and missed her dreadfully. Until I met Jacques. How is the cod?"

Harry swallowed the mouthful he'd been chewing. "Delicious. Who was Jacques?"

"An exterminator. After a dry spring we had a ridiculous influx of rats. I believe I was eight that summer. My father hired Jacques to eliminate them all after several of the house-elves expressed terror of the vermin and seemed unable to rid the house of them. It was inexcusable, honestly, but what can one do? Jacques strode around the Manor and the gardens, setting magical traps and talking to me about the necessity of stamping out unwanted pests. I followed him everywhere, of course."

Harry refrained from commenting on the fact that Jacques might have helped to fuel Malfoy's later intolerance, as he wanted to hear the rest of the tale.

"Jacques was slender, manly, dark-haired, muscular, and very quick with a wand. I was hopelessly smitten and made up epic fantasies about running away with him, especially whenever I was angry at my father. Of course, he was only at the Manor the one time and I should have forgotten him, but I never did. Later, when I went to school and learned that it was more common for boys and girls to get together, I joined the ranks of the heterosexuals to more easily fit in."

Malfoy tucked into his food then, and Harry restrained his questions. He had never considered that Malfoy was anything but straight, so his admission was something of a surprise. Harry finished his fish and waited to see if Malfoy would continue. The wine was very good, although it threatened to go to Harry's head. Eddie appreciated wine, but Harry seldom drank more than a single glass on special occasions.

Malfoy finally sat back after refilling both glasses. "Then the war came and there wasn't time to indulge in amorous exploration with either sex. In fact, I spent many nights huddled in my parents' room to avoid the disgusting creatures roaming my house. Many of them found me far too attractive for comfort. I had no intention of allowing my first sexual experience to be rape. Even so, there were several close calls."

Malfoy drank deeply and Harry felt a twinge of sympathy. He had never considered how terrible it must have been, to have Voldemort and his minions living in his house. The very idea that they would have used him for their pleasure… Harry lifted his glass and took a bracing gulp.

"Water under the bridge now, of course, thanks to you. And after the war and the trials and the atrocities that followed, I found myself with plenty of opportunity to indulge in… exploration. Conclusion: Most definitely bisexual. Are you bored yet?"

"Not at all, although I'm not sure why you're telling me all this."

"Just making conversation, Harry. It's what people do."

Andrew appeared again and cleared away their dishes before producing a visual display of the various desserts. The chocolate mousse looked delicious, but Harry had to try the treacle tart, despite his need to counter Malfoy's expectations. Malfoy ordered a pear tart with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream.

"I'm pretty sure I'm just gay," Harry said when their desserts had appeared and Andrew had vanished again.

"Only pretty sure?" Malfoy asked after taking a spoonful of the ice cream.

"Yeah. I was growing more and more uncomfortable with displays of affection with… with Ginny. Kissing was okay, but when it came to touching… Merlin, I shouldn't be telling you this."

Malfoy scooped out another careful bite of ice cream with his spoon. "I already know more about you than you can possibly suspect. I've known you were gay for quite some time. Before it broke in the papers, actually."

"I— How?"

"Your first experimental fling was at a private party hosted by Quentin Quartermain. He wasn't Undersecretary then, and was possibly slightly less an insufferable prick than he is now. I notice his parties have dwindled as his aspirations have increased."

"My first fling." Harry knew he sounded strangled. No one knew about that. No one could _possibly_ know about that unless—

"Sorry, I'm afraid Johnathon owed me a favour. A very large favour. He swore me to silence and then traded a bit of your personal history for exemption from my hexing him into an unrecognisable mass of pain."

"You traded my information? What good did it do you?" Harry was so outraged the temptation to get up from the table was strong.

"Knowledge is power. Who knows what use I might have put it to if you hadn't come out when you did? I was almost disappointed when the story broke, to be honest. I felt cheated out of an opportunity."

"You would have blackmailed me?"

Malfoy wrinkled his nose. "You make that sound like such a dirty word."

"It is a dirty word! It's wrong!"

Malfoy smirked at him and ate his pear tart. "We seem to have wandered from the topic. How was Johnathon in the blowjob department? I suspect he was substandard, because I never saw much ambition in the man. Granted, he is fine to look at, if you like the half-starved blond sort, but he's incredibly lazy. I can't imagine what you were thinking."

"I was thinking that whatever we did would be _private_," Harry growled. He took a forkful of treacle tart and spent some time chewing. It was decadent and rich and brilliantly sticky.

Malfoy smiled at him. "I used to think your naiveté was, in fact, idiocy. I was wrong."

When Harry's teeth unstuck and he could speak again, he asked, "Was that an insult or a compliment?"

Malfoy's smile grew wider. "Yes."

oOo

Harry made his way home and reflected on his dinner with Malfoy. He was still an enigmatic prat, but he was bloody interesting. _And gorgeous_. Harry had no problem admitting that in his tipsy state. _And bisexual_, his libido added helpfully. Bloody hell, why had Malfoy decided to impart that titbit of information?

"Probably to fuck with my head," Harry muttered as he stepped out of the Floo into Eddie's—their—flat. If that had been Malfoy's intention, it was working. Harry sprawled on the sofa and allowed himself a moment to think about Malfoy. He indulged in a brief fantasy of what it might be like to kiss him, to remove his fancy clothing, one garment at a time, to—

"Harry, is that you?"

Harry sat up with a start and blinked at Eddie, who appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. He held a glass of what looked like juice and smiled as he took a drink.

"Eddie! I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow." Harry shifted on the sofa, glad the back was positioned so that Eddie wouldn't catch a glimpse of the half-hard bulge in his jeans. He flushed with guilt at having been caught fanaticising about Malfoy when he had a perfectly adequate boyfriend.

Eddie made a scoffing sound. "The bristles turned out to be worthless. They were beautiful to look at and helped with aerodynamics-the brooms turned on a knut, but they didn't hold up to the speed tests. After eight hours in the air they began to shed. Eight hours! The replacement costs would have been astronomical. Pity, really, as they came in multiple colours and would have been especially popular with the pro Quidditch teams."

"Damn," Harry said sympathetically. "Well, at least you're home." Eddie's chatter had fixed Harry's little problem, enough that he could get to his feet and embrace Eddie in a welcome home hug, mindful of the glass.

Eddie leaned in for a kiss and then drew back with a frown. "Merlin, have you been drinking?"

"Ah… a bit. I was out with…" Harry broke off, unwilling to admit he'd been out with Malfoy, whose release was top secret, despite the fact that Malfoy seemed perfectly fine with being seen in a high-class restaurant. "A friend."

"A friend. Should I be jealous?"

Harry laughed. Despite his slip into wondering what Malfoy would be like in bed, Eddie had nothing to worry about. Harry would never give into temptation, and especially not with Malfoy, of all people. It would be doubly insane considering the delicate situation at the Ministry.

"No. Actually, it was more of an informant than a friend. I was passing along some information from the man to Kingsley. He didn't want to be seen at the Ministry and he's paranoid of any messages being intercepted."

Eddie moved away. His pose seemed stiff as he set the glass on the counter and began to slice a loaf of bread with a spell. "I thought you were finished with that Auror stuff. Aren't you on leave?"

"Yeah. Mostly. I don't know."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to argue with you about it. You already know how I feel. Would you like a sandwich?"

"No. I ate already."

Harry sat on the table and watched as Eddie prepared a sandwich. He asked him about Wales and was rewarded with increasingly short answers until Eddie declared that he was tired from his trip. He gave Harry a peck on the cheek and disappeared into his room, closing the door with finality.

Harry sighed and admitted that he needed to sort his life. He'd been so ready to leave the Auror Department for good, until Malfoy had blown back into his life. Now, everything seemed far less simple.

~TBC~


	5. Chapter 5

(The plot thickens. And for the super-observant, yes Draco brought his own "waiter" to the Muggle restaurant, a fact Harry would certainly have noted if he hadn't been so busy analysing Draco. He definitely needs a refresher course in Auror Training, or possibly fewer blond distractions...)

**26th June, 2005 - Sunday**

Harry had a lie-in the next morning and apparently Eddie did also, as Harry did not hear him at all when he finally rose from bed and made his way to the kitchen. He drank two cups of tea and skimmed through a six-week-old copy of Witch Weekly that had sat on the table. He was hungry but it was closer to lunchtime than breakfast, so he decided to wait awhile and then go out and fetch something. It was nearly an hour later that he heard the shower turn on.

He smiled and left Eddie a note tacked to the teapot. **_Be right back with something delicious._**

Eddie was a huge fan of fried haddock, so Harry Apparated to the waterfront and braved the early lunch crowd to order a couple of fish and chip baskets with a side of grilled lemon sole. Harry decided he would need to work out soon to rid himself of all the extra calories he'd been eating.

He popped back into the kitchen and placed the paper sack on the table. "Eddie?"

"Here."

Harry frowned and walked into the living room, not registering the odd sound of his voice until he stopped short at the sight of Eddie a chair in the centre of the room. A man was stood next to him with a wand at Eddie's throat.

"Drop the wand, Potter," the man growled.

Eddie's mouth was covered by a strip of silvery material. His eyes were wild. Harry swallowed hard and cursed his inattention. He wasn't even holding his wand—it had been jammed casually into his back pocket. He turned his attention to the man, whom he did not recognize at all.

"Who are you and what do you want?"

The man whispered a spell and Eddie screamed, audible even through the—was that Muggle tape covering his mouth? Harry took a step forward, but the man shouted, "Drop the fucking wand!"

Harry reached back to grab his wand and the man barked another command. "Stop! Do it real slowly. And only two fingers. One shifty move and I'll cast the Killing Curse so fast he'll be dead before your hex gets halfway here."

Harry slowed his movements, looking for an opening. _Avada Kedavra_ was six syllables. Harry should be able to cast _Expelliarmus_ before the man completed his incantation, but dared he take such a chance with Eddie's life? Sweat trickled down Eddie's brow and he trembled visibly in his bonds, which were both tangible and magical, gleaming with a faint blue light.

"I can see you thinking about it, Potter. I know your ways, don't think I don't. Did I mention that I also got a long knife tucked up under pretty boy's spine back here? You might think you're fast enough to curse me before I can get a spell off, and maybe you're right. But there's no way in hell you're gonna stop me from shoving this dagger straight into his heart. Now. Put down. Your wand."

Eddie's breathing was becoming loud and dangerous-sounding. He was forced to breathe through his nose and Harry was afraid he was having a panic attack. Eddie might be in trouble on his own if he didn't calm down, and Harry was afraid the man was right about the knife. He dared not chance it.

Using his thumb and index finger, he carefully took out his wand and held it gently, point straight downwards, as though it were a poisonous snake.

"Very good. Now toss it over here, easy like."

Harry gave his fingers a twitch and the wand sailed a short distance and rolled beneath the chair that Eddie was bound in. The man seemed to visibly relax.

"Now sit down on that sofa over there and don't move. We are going to have a little chin wag." He jerked his head towards the sofa. The table that normally sat in the centre of the room was gone—it had either been moved, Vanished, or shrunk. Harry wouldn't be able to use it as a weapon, even if he'd been confident enough to consider picking it up.

"Who are you?" he asked again.

"My name is Rosier. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. A rogue Death Eater. "Is this for revenge, then? Payback for killing your precious Dark Lord?"

Rosier straightened, but his left arm remained behind Eddie. A wince from Eddie let Harry know that the knife threat was very real. Harry filtered through his options, seeking a way to at least get Rosier away from Eddie.

Rosier laughed, a hissing, breathy sound. "Naw. You did good there, boy. That arsehole was a cauldron full of crazy. Would have killed us all, eventually. I'm here about Draco Malfoy."

"What?"

"You need to tell me where he is. I followed you two last night after your cosy dinner and then I lost Malfoy, the bloody bastard. My need is great, therefore you will tell me where I can find him."

Harry's eyes flicked to Eddie, who was still breathing hard, but it seemed less laboured now that Rosier had lowered the wand from his neck. Eddie's brows drew down and he stared directly at Harry.

"I don't know where he is," Harry said truthfully.

"Wrong answer. _Crucio_!" The spell caught Eddie, who reared out of the chair as far as his bonds would allow. Another muffled scream made the veins in his neck stand out in stark lines of pain. Harry half-rose.

"Stop!" Harry cried.

Rosier's wand twitched to him. "Sit. Down." Eddie sagged into the chair. Tears slipped from both eyes and he seemed to be choking.

"Please. At least take that off his mouth. He can't breathe."

Rosier shrugged and, using his wand hand, he ripped the tape away in one swift movement. Eddie screamed again and then his loud gasps filled the room. A corner of his lip bled, probably torn by the tape. "Harry," he whispered.

Harry drew a shaking breath. He could not afford to make any mistakes. "I don't know where Malfoy is. He sent me a message yesterday to meet him at the restaurant."

"Why?"

_Fuck_. Why, indeed? He couldn't admit that Malfoy was helping them to catch evildoers. Hell, it sounded ludicrous in his own mind. "He was trying to get some information about a friend of his. A friend in Azkaban."

"And what was he going to give you in exchange?"

"That is none of your concern."

Rosier chuckled. Harry looked at him closely in order to commit his face to memory. He could not recall seeing him at any time during the war. Certainly he didn't recognize the drawn, sallow face with stringy, greying dark hair. The makings of a beard dotted his chin in unattractive patches and a divot-shaped scar marred one cheek. He was lean and muscular, although not very tall, which worked to his benefit as he hunched over Eddie.

"You're right. I might just carve the answer out of Malfoy's hide when I catch up to him. You may not know where he is now, but I'm betting you can find him. Are you a wagering man, Potter?"

"No."

"Too bad. I'm betting I can get Eddie begging for his life before you tell me how to find Malfoy. You seem the stubborn sort, so I'm sure it will take us a while." Rosier lifted his wand.

"He told me to send an owl to the Mincing Magician. I don't know if Malfoy is staying there or if it's just a mail drop."

Rosier frowned at him. "Really, now, that was too easy. You're taking all the fun out of it. Or maybe…you're lying." He prodded Eddie with his wand and another Cruciatus Curse twisted Eddie's frame. Harry could see him struggling not to scream. Eddie's knuckles went white on the arms of the chair.

"That's all I know! I swear it! Eddie, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Eddie slumped back, panting, when Rosier stopped. Harry sat back at Rosier's curt gesture. He'd been perched on the edge of his seat, half-ready to spring forwards and take on Rosier with his bare hands. It would only take a moment to Summon his wand and then—

"I believe you, Potter. But I don't need you to warn Malfoy and come after me just yet, so I'll give you a choice. You can either stop me, or save dear old Eddie's life." With that, he cast a Full-body Bind at Harry, who cast a wandless _Protego_ the moment Rosier's wand lifted. It was only partially successful. Harry's body snapped into board-stiffness, but he felt he might be able to shake the effects if he concentrated. "Pity you won't have time to do either one."

With that, Rosier lifted the dagger and drove it into Eddie's upper thigh. Eddie's shriek echoed through the room. Harry struggled to move, tried vainly to Summon his wand with a thought.

"I'll be off now. And I think I'll take this with me as a souvenir." He retrieved Harry's wand from beneath the chair and twirled it. "Ta, Potter, you've not been exactly helpful, but better than useless. Sorry about lover boy, here, but he wasn't good enough for you, anyway. Isn't that right, Eddie?" He gave Eddie's face a squeeze with one large hand, pocketed Harry's wand, and then reached down and gripped the handle of the knife.

Eddie made a wordless, gibbering plea that ripped at Harry's heart. He fought to cancel the spell holding him. It was weak; he should have been able to break it. _Finite_, he thought desperately, struggling to concentrate and not give in to panic. _Finite Incantatum_.

"I'll be needing this." Rosier yanked the knife free and Eddie screamed so loudly that Harry would have blocked the sound if he'd been able. "Oh my. Looks like I've nicked an artery. You'll most likely bleed to death in about five minutes, Eddie. Too bad. Good day, boys."

With that, Rosier Disapparated, leaving Harry staring at the ceiling listening to Eddie's terrified sobs.

Harry forced himself to concentrate, blocking out everything and trying to bring back his training. _Calm yourself_, he thought. Wandless magic was either instinctive or born of confidence and ease. _You've done this spell a thousand times._ _Finite Incantatum. Finite Incantatum. Finite Incantatum!_

The third iteration broke the spell and Harry bounded to his feet and ran to Eddie. His thigh was crimson, and blood pooled on the chair and spilled to the floor, marring the Moroccan carpet Eddie loved so well.

"Where is your wand, Eddie? Merlin, _stay with me_. I need to know where it is." Harry held Eddie's face in both hands and spoke calmly. Eddie blinked at him, obviously on the edge of passing out, probably from both shock and blood loss. Harry pressed one hand to Eddie's thigh in an attempt to slow the bleeding. It felt warm and slick and he pushed away the knowledge that it was Eddie's life slipping through his hands. He dug deeper, seeking a pressure point. "Eddie!"

"Bedroom," Eddie managed in a weak croak.

"_Accio_ Eddie's wand!" Harry yelled. It flew into his hand and he set about freeing him from his bonds. He forced himself to move methodically. The spells binding Eddie were tricky, and then he had to sever the ropes, all whilst not removing his hand from Eddie's thigh. It was difficult work manoeuvring Eddie's wand. Casting was sluggish and each spell seemed delayed, as though the wand was reluctant to function for him. When the last bond fell away, Harry Apparated them straight to St Mungo's. Covered in blood, as they both were, their arrival caused an immediate stir. The healers rushed Eddie away, down a long hallway and into a closed room.

The doors had barely shut before Harry cast a Patronus and sent it to Malfoy. **_Come to St Mungo's now_**. He had little doubt that his tone would carry through, even in Patronus form.

"Are you hurt, Auror Potter?" a medi-witch asked, eyeing him closely.

"No. It's… not my blood." He swallowed hard and blinked rapidly, trying to dispel a rush of tears. It was his fault that Eddie was wounded. It was his fault that a fucking madman had invaded their home. His fault, and Malfoy's.

"There is a washroom at the end of the hall. I'm sure they will be with him for a while. You have time to clean up."

Harry nodded and tried to give her a smile before heading into the washroom and scrubbing at the blood staining his hands and arms. It was everywhere, splattered on his shirt, smeared on his jeans, and he even found a dark red splash on his white trainers. Trembling, he cast a Cleaning Charm at his shoe. It took three attempts and then left a scorched mark on the toe in place of the blood.

Harry placed Eddie's wand on the counter and rested both hands there. He took several deep breaths. Fuck, he hadn't even sent word to Kingsley. Or Ron. He needed to do that. After rinsing his hands once more and drying them, he went out, only to see the medi-witch at the nearest station waving at him.

"I'm sorry, dear, there is no word on the boy yet, but a message came for you." She handed him a tiny sealed envelope. He tore it open and found a message scrawled in a neat script.

**I am in the loo nearest the lift on Spell Damage. ~D**

"I'll be right back," Harry told her and nearly ran for the lift. He drummed his fingers on his thigh as he waited for other passengers to enter. The ride seemed to take forever and he pushed through assorted occupants to escape on Spell Damage. He pushed open the door to the loo and scanned for Malfoy. There was only one man stood near the sink in a voluminous hooded grey robe.

A spell slammed and locked the door behind Harry, who yanked Eddie's wand out and lifted it defensively.

"Relax, Potter. I don't want to be disturbed. What has happened?"

"What has happened is that Eddie was attacked! In his—_our_—own home! Because of _you_!"

"Is he alive?"

"Yes. No. I don't know! They are working on him now. He was stabbed in the thigh with a…" Harry looked away. The memory loomed like a grotesque shadow. "A knife."

"A knife? What self-respecting wizard uses a knife?"

Harry glared at him. "Rosier! And he was looking for you. He tortured Eddie so that I would tell him where to find you."

Malfoy pushed back his hood and leaned against the sink. "Rosier." His face was unreadable. "And did you tell him?"

"I told him about the Mincing Magician."

Malfoy nodded. "Good. Did you happen to mention that I was working for you now?"

"Of course not!"

"I needed to make certain. After all, with poor Eddie being tortured I had to ascertain you didn't give away all of my secrets."

"I don't know any of your secrets!"

"_Au contraire_, Harry, you know far too many of my secrets." Malfoy shot him an incongruous grin. "Although I admit there are many more that you do not know."

"What are you going to do about Rosier?"

Malfoy sobered. "I'll get back to you on that. This little display was most likely to get my attention. He wants something from me, so I will meet with him and find out what it is."

"He followed us from the restaurant yesterday. He wanted to know why you were meeting with me, but he didn't pursue it, although he mentioned something about carving the answer out of your hide."

Malfoy waved a hand. "Yes, yes, torture and maiming. That is all that the small-minded are good for. I can handle Rosier. With that said, however, he is a very dangerous man. After the war he became a political terrorist selling his allegiance to the highest bidder."

"A political terrorist?"

"Yes, although he is more of an assassin than an activist. The political-minded appreciate him because his kills tend to make a statement. Do you remember when the Croatian High Talismaster was murdered?"

"Murdered? That was an accident. The whole building went down due to a stray Muggle missile. He was killed with eight other people."

"That was no stray missile. Rosier has made a name for himself not only because of his merciless success rate, but also because he is willing to use whatever unorthodox methods necessary to get the job done. And by unorthodox, I mean Muggle." He gestured at Harry. "The knife he used on Eddie was just a taste. He has used bombs, guns, garrottes, and even once rigged a Muggle automobile to drive into a garden party and explode. I believe that one was also officially called an accident." Malfoy made air quotes around the last word and Harry had to shake off the oddity of hearing Muggle terms issuing from Draco Malfoy's mouth, spoken as though he dealt with them every day. Perhaps he did now.

"Then what does he want with you?"

"It could be any number of things, the most likely of which is information." Malfoy pushed himself away from the sink. "I will meet with him and let you know. Tell Shacklebolt and the others to keep their wands to themselves if they should happen across Pansy or Blaise out and about. I need them both and won't have them arrested for minor misdemeanours."

"What do you mean by misdemeanours?"

Malfoy cocked his head. "Do you really want to know?"

Harry lifted a hand. "No. Never mind."

"Very well. You had best get back to dear Eddie and I will go and face my latest madman. Wish me luck." With a wave of his wand, he unlocked the door and then flipped the hood back over his head, covering his pale hair and most of his face.

"Malfoy! Two things."

Malfoy turned back and Harry could make out the twist of his lips, although he couldn't see Malfoy's grey eyes.

"Rosier took my wand. I'd like it back, if you can manage."

"And the second thing?"

"Why do you keep telling me not to trust Eddie?"

Malfoy's half smile disappeared. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Not yet. And some things you need to learn for yourself. One day you will trust me, and then you will believe me when I tell you things that you don't want to hear. Either that, or Eddie will slip up and you'll figure him out on your own. If he survives the night, that is. I'll be in touch, Harry."

With that, Malfoy slipped out the door and was gone.

oOo

Hermione and Ron came to sit with him at St Mungo's. Hermione fetched tea and they waited for news. Harry told them what he knew, which wasn't much.

"This is all because of that git, Malfoy," Ron muttered.

"He helped us save Liam's son," Harry countered, "and we wouldn't have caught Greyback without him." He wasn't sure why he was so keen to defend Malfoy, but he couldn't seem to shake his parting words. _One day you will trust me_. Was that what he really wanted? Was it all an elaborate ploy, or was Malfoy being sincere? Harry could not think of enough valid reasons to sway the answer one direction or another.

"Harry." Hermione said his name again and he realised she had spoken more than once.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sure Eddie will be fine. He's strong."

"Yeah, mate. It won't be long. They've fixed up much worse here, yeah? Remember my dad after that horrible snake bit him?"

Harry nodded. "I let him take my wand. I couldn't stop him. Why didn't I set stronger wards? I told Eddie a hundred times they needed to be more secure and he said he didn't want to live in Gringotts. I should have done it anyway."

"Harry, stop blaming yourself."

"He's got your wand? Merlin, you'd best report that to Kingsley right away. In fact, he's going to want to hear all of this."

Harry wanted to snap at him for being less concerned of Eddie than Auror business, but his assessment was accurate.

"Ron—" Hermione frowned.

"He's right. Can you go and give him an overview, Ron? I need to stay. At least until I know Eddie is out of danger."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, of course. I'll be right back." Ron gave Hermione's shoulder a squeeze as he passed by on his way to the lift. She sent a fond smile after him.

"So, you're working with Malfoy now? Don't worry. Ron hasn't told me much. I know it's all highly secret, but he can't stand knowing something that I don't without bragging about it a little."

That drew a wan smile from Harry. "Yeah. And it's not like you can't be trusted. It's been weird. Especially when I was ready to leave the Aurors, and now I'm right back in the thick of it. I was ready to let it all go, for Eddie."

Hermione clutched his hand. "You still can. Don't let Malfoy influence you. He has his own agenda and no one knows what it is. Maybe you would be better off doing something else. Take Eddie and go on a long vacation, once he is up and around again."

"_If_ he's up and around again." Harry tried not to sound bitter, but he was worried. It had been a long time with no word from the healers.

As if called by his depressed thoughts, a medi-wizard walked briskly towards them. "There you are, Mr Potter. I believe you came in with Eddie Carmichael?" At Harry's nod and scramble to his feet, the healer smiled. It looked out of place on his face, as though he were typically humourless. "I believe we have stabilised him. He will not awaken for some time, however. He suffered major blood loss and the blood-replenishing potions will take some time to replace what he has lost. That is best accomplished while the patient is asleep."

"He… he's going to be okay?" Harry could scarcely believe it; he'd half-convinced himself that Eddie was going to die. Hermione clenched his hand.

"Indeed, Mr Potter. We prefer that he sleep for at least twenty-four hours, and preferably forty-eight. Perhaps longer, depending upon the efficacy of the potions."

Harry nodded and took a deep breath before letting it out. A knot of tension untied itself from between his shoulder blades, leaving bone-deep weariness behind. "Great. That's great. Thank you so much. Thank you."

The healer nodded. "Just doing our jobs, Mr Potter. Good evening."

As he walked away, Harry turned and pulled Hermione into a relieved embrace. She giggled against his shoulder. "I told you all would be well. Now, let's go get you into some clean clothes and feed you something. I doubt you've eaten all day."

Harry allowed her to lead him away, and let her comforting babble wash over him. No matter what, he knew he could always count on her to take care of him. With all the recent upheaval in his life, it was good to know that some things never changed.

**27th June, 2005 - Monday**

Draco pushed open the door to the warehouse and frowned when the movement kicked up a stir of dust that settled over his Italian loafers. He wondered why the suspicious sorts always chose to meet in the grimmest of surroundings. What would be wrong with meeting in a charming, private gazebo such as the one in Magnolia Park? It was sheltered from the weather and absolutely beautiful in early summer. And there was no dust.

"Into the light, Malfoy, where I can see you."

"Ralston. How lovely to see you again." Draco obediently walked into the circle of light cast by a dim overhead bulb. "Although I can't quite see you. Would you care to join me?"

Rosier edged into the light, hanging back so that Draco could just make out the dark point of his wand, held in his right hand. "Don't try anything stupid."

Draco clucked his tongue. "Honestly, I'm here, am I not?" He held up his hands. "And look. I don't even have my wand. Your message was rather vague. Would you care to be more specific? And do we really need to do this here? I can think of a hundred better places."

"We're meeting under my terms, not yours. You've been chummy with Potter recently. Why?"

"Because it amuses me. Is that really the information you seek?"

"No, but I need to know where your loyalties lie. You steered me right in Berlin, so I'm willing to trust you, but not if you've turned coat."

"Please. My loyalty will always lie with myself. What are you working on?"

"Something big and I don't need you in my way."

"Why would I get in your way?"

"Because it could involve Potter. Doesn't need to, but it probably will."

"Your target is someone close to Potter." Draco buried a sinking feeling. He could stop Rosier right now, but then he'd never learn who was paying him.

"Why were you with Potter at the restaurant?"

"If you must know, I've been trying to lure him into my bed."

Rosier's face twisted into a grimace of disgust. "You can't be serious."

"I am perfectly serious. I am bored with easy conquests and I wanted a better target. Who better than the ultimate challenge?"

"How do you plan to do that?"

"With finesse, of course. I have pretended to have a change of heart. I'm feeding him information and in return he is learning to trust me. As a side benefit, it won't hurt a bit to have someone of Potter's status on my side. Think of the things I might learn during post-coital bedroom talk." Draco smiled like the Cheshire cat and shook his head. "Just the thought of it makes me all tingly inside."

Rosier's expression was plainly disbelieving. "You honestly think you can play Harry Potter?"

"Never underestimate me, Ralston." It was a threat, although it was doubtful Rosier would see it as such.

"Well, this might throw a gnat's wing into your potion. My target is a Weasley."

Draco's heart clenched. "Which one? There are multitudes."

"Not saying. I can't take your story at face value. I'm not stupid."

That was debatable, Draco thought, but he knew it wouldn't be wise to mention it. "Fair enough. What do you need from me?"

"An updated internal map of the Ministry. They made some changes in the past six months and I haven't found anyone willing to divulge the new layout."

That was because Draco had located and paid off everyone with access to that knowledge, or at least all of the ones who would have sold the information. "Which parts? Even I can't get the Department of Mysteries." That was also a blatant lie. Draco prided himself on his fibbing skills.

"Don't need that. Need DMLE. And Level One."

Rosier seemed to have tacked on the latter as an afterthought, which meant his target was in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Which narrowed it down to Ron Weasley. _Fuck_. There was a slim chance that he was after Bill Weasley. As a Curse-breaker, he had access to DMLE and they frequently pulled him in to assist with certain cases or to dismantle traps for the Aurors.

"Easily done. Is that all?"

"For now."

"Fine. Name a figure."

Payment was quickly agreed upon and Rosier's easy acceptance of Draco's fee made him uneasy. His services did not come cheap and Draco hadn't bothered to start low. Whomever was financing Rosier's mission had deep pockets.

"Where do you want the plans delivered?"

"There is a chair at the Pasty Pudding marked with a deep scratch that they never bother to repair. Affix the plans to the bottom of the seat with a Sticking Charm. Someone will fetch them."

Draco nodded. It was standard procedure. Rosier would send some hired grunt to pick them up and he would use a series of Apparition and Floo jumps to avoid being tailed.

"I'll need them within 48 hours."

"You'll have them."

Rosier nodded. "Any duplicity and I'll blow your guts to the moon."

"A pleasant image. Thank you for that. Now I shan't be hungry for lunch."

"You always were a bit of a freak, Malfoy."

_Takes one to know one_, Draco thought savagely and took his leave.

oOo

"Home" was a relative term for Draco. These days he tended to apply the term to whatever building his favourite pair of shoes occupied, whether it be a posh hotel room or woodland shack. In the portions of his soul that he no longer acknowledged, he knew that the true meaning of the word, for him, would always be Malfoy Manor. He dared not set foot in his ancestral home. Not now, and perhaps not ever. It was the one place everyone expected him to go, and therefore it was the one place to which he would not return.

It also held a thousand bad memories, none of which he felt like rehashing. Ever.

His current home was a mid-sized row of stone-fronted houses barely wide enough to accommodate a door and a single, tall window. Draco felt rather claustrophobic inside, especially with Blaise and Pansy both in attendance as they were currently.

"That went well," Blaise said as he moved to the sideboard to pour them all drinks. Blaise had been lurking on the roof during his meeting with Rosier, ready to protect Draco's back if the need had arisen. Pansy ignored them both. Her feet were up on the sofa and her nose was buried in a trashy novel.

"I need you to locate Nash. Rosier is hiding something. He wants floor plans of DMLE, but something feels off. It could be a diversion. Find out if he approached Nash or anyone else asking for information. I'll need more than vague supposition on this one."

Blaise finished pouring and reached for a glass, but it sailed away from his grasp and into Pansy's waiting hand. Long used to her antics, Blaise only sighed and reached for the other two. He carried one to Draco and sipped from the other.

"Are you sure this thing with Potter is a good idea?" Pansy asked.

"How can you ask that? You know all of my ideas are brilliant." Draco beamed at her. "Besides, look what it has gained me already. Freedom and Ministry protection. I no longer have to worry about being arrested."

Blaise snorted. "Only until they find enough evidence to pin something on you."

"They won't or they would have done it by now. Besides, if I give them Rosier, they will owe me more than they can ever repay."

"Why not just drop the bastard when we had him in the warehouse?"

Draco rolled his eyes and took a drink. There was a reason why he was the ringleader and they were the followers.

~TBC~


	6. Chapter 6

**28th June, 2005 - Tuesday**

"Why didn't you just incapacitate Rosier during your meeting?" Potter demanded. "You could have stopped him right then."

Draco fought a sense of _deja-vu_ and repeated the explanation he'd given Blaise. "He would have blown up the building with us in it. Rosier likes to strap explosives to himself these days, in case something goes wrong. Besides, unless we allow him to continue, his employers will simply find someone else and we will be back to square one, except without leads. _N'est-ce pas_?"

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense." Potter dragged a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up on top more than usual. It made Draco think of bedhead, which led him down a merry ramble into picturing Potter in the altogether. "Sorry, I'm just tired."

"Did you spend the night at the hospital?"

"No. Ron and Hermione's. I still have to go home and… clean up." Potter looked away and Draco felt a jolt of sympathy. Potter would have to clean up his lover's blood. That was never an easy task.

"I can send someone to take care of that for you," he offered.

"No. I should do it. I sort of feel responsible."

Draco impulsively reached out and gripped Potter's wrist. He caught Potter's startled gaze and met it evenly. "Stop. You are not responsible for every madman in the world. Believe me, there are plenty of them. And it would not have mattered if you had warded the place seven ways from Sunday, Rosier _would have broken through_. It's what he does, Harry. Not even your magical prowess could have stopped him."

"Then how are we going to stop him from doing whatever he is planning?"

Draco squeezed his wrist once more and then let go. "By outwitting him."

Potter took a deep breath and nodded. "Merlin, I can't believe I let him take my wand. How am I going to get that back? Assuming he hasn't snapped it or burned it or something."

"He probably keeps it on him. He enjoys souvenirs. Once we incapacitate him, we'll simply take it back. How did you get here?"

They sat in a tiny Muggle used bookshop that contained a number of small nooks with cosy chairs and wooden tables for reading. The place served coffee and pastries. Draco loved the atmosphere, even if the cappuccino was a bit watered down for his taste.

"I, um…" Potter coughed and then pulled a wand out of his sleeve. Draco blinked, but allowed no other expression to mar his features. "I'm using yours. Sorry I never gave it back."

Draco nearly reached out and touched the hawthorn as a wave of nostalgia broke over him. He had been through hell and back with that wand. Most of the memories associated with it were far from pleasant. He much preferred the slender, arrow-straight length of ash he currently used. It suited him better than the hawthorn ever had.

He smiled at Potter. "Given how closely it is tied to that Dark Lord nonsense, I am not surprised. I wouldn't have given it back." In fact, Draco would have snapped it into several pieces and burned them all, but he suspected Potter was far too sentimental to ever do such a thing. He straightened with a gasp and then launched himself from his seat. "What is _that_?"

Potter was on his feet in an instant, wand held defensively stiff. Draco nearly laughed aloud. It was ludicrous to think of Potter giving up the Aurors. He had practically been born into the role. It suited him. "What?"

Draco strode to a nearby shelf and tugged down a tattered book. He flipped through it. "Sun Tzu's The Art of War. Such a shame to see it in this condition. Look, I think someone's cat got at it." Draco fingered the bite marks on the upper edge of the cover and clucked his tongue.

Potter relaxed and sat back down. "Oh. A book."

"Yes, Potter. A book. Have you ever read one?"

"I've read one."

Draco chuckled. "One."

"Shut it, you." Despite his words, a smile played at the corner of Potter's mouth. Draco was captivated for a moment, basking in the rare gift of Harry Potter's unabashed amusement.

_Stop it, Draco_, he warned himself. _It would be stupid to become any more enamoured of the man than you already are._

"I'll buy it and you can give it to Granger. Does she still have that horrid kneazle?"

"Crookshanks, yeah. I think I still have a few hairs on my trousers from him rubbing on me this morning." Potter reached down and brushed at his calves. "So you didn't learn anything useful from Rosier?"

"I didn't say that. I will share my suspicions the moment I can give you something more than vague possibilities. I don't need you running around in a panic."

"You think I'd panic?" Potter cocked a brow over his glasses.

"Gryffindors aren't known for placidity."

Potter grinned. "Yeah, okay, you got me there. But when do you think he'll strike?"

"Not soon. He needs more information. He is planning something specific and we need to discover what it is. You'll have to trust me."

"I think I'm beginning to."

Draco gave him another smile and this one edged into fondness before Draco could stop it. "It's a start, Harry."

oooOooo

Harry went home and half of his mind was occupied with his meeting with Malfoy. He hadn't lied. Although it still set up warning bells in his psyche, he was beginning to trust Malfoy. Something about him just seemed sincere.

Harry remembered the warmth of Malfoy's hand on his wrist and the intense look in his silver eyes. Bloody hell, at times Malfoy actually seemed to _care_ about him. The whole thing was madness.

His attention sharply left Malfoy the moment he spied the dark stain splashed all over the carpet beneath the chair. A small pool of coagulated blood lay on the wood at the edge of the carpet. It was a grim reminder and Harry forced down a bout of queasiness tainted with guilt. He took a shaking breath and went into the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea. He knew he was going to need it.

An hour later, he had rolled up the carpet and sent it out for cleaning, righted the furniture, and scrubbed the floor both manually and with as many cleaning charms as he could manage. He was amazed at how far the blood spatters had travelled. He tried not to think about the fact that it was Eddie's blood as he followed each spot and scrubbed it clean with a spell and a swipe of his cleaning cloth.

He frowned when he noticed a couple of droplets marring the covers of Eddie's books. A low bookshelf in the living room contained three dozen volumes of varied sizes and genres, although Harry had seldom caught him reading. Laughing, Eddie had once told him they were more for show, so that visitors would think he was well-read. "And aren't Ravenclaws supposed to love books?"

Harry shut his eyes on the memory and took a steadying breath. _Eddie_, he thought, _I'll make it up to you_. Eddie had been so patient, waiting for Harry to get his head straight, postponing necessary intimacy until Harry felt comfortable and ready to commit—Harry wanted to _Crucio_ himself for having been so stupid. What had he been waiting for?

_Don't trust him_. Unbidden, Malfoy's words came back to him. Harry scowled and shook his head. It was nonsense. He reached for a volume and spelled it clean with the gentlest spell he knew. After placing it on the floor, he took down another one. Some of them were dusty, so he thought he might as well clean the whole lot.

When the books were stacked in assorted piles on the floor, Harry dusted and polished the wooden bookshelf, and then began to place the books inside. He lifted a large, leather-bound volume emblazoned with The Veracious Origins of Hegemony Through Imperius and Other Cognizance Altering Incantations and snorted at the title. That one certainly seemed like something a book-loving Ravenclaw boy would read.

Harry flipped it open, expecting to see tiny, dry print written in archaic or highbrow script. What he did not anticipate was a false centre—the pages had been cut out to create a space in the middle of the book, large enough for the collection of photos and clipping that had been stored inside. Several of them fluttered to the floor as Harry released the false pages.

He picked up a photo and noticed with a start that it was _him_, walking out of Flourish and Blott's with Hermione. Photo-Harry laughed and Hermione gave him a poke on the shoulder. It was such a commonplace scene that Harry could not even recall the specific occasion. Had Eddie taken the photo?

Harry placed the book on the floor and picked up another photo. This one was of him dressed in Auror robes walking with Seamus. The shimmer of glass told him the photo had been taken from inside a building as he and Seamus had walked past. They reached the sill of the window and the photo looped.

Harry frowned and picked up a large stack to fan through them. Every picture was a photo of him. Some were of him alone—sitting at a park bench feeding pigeons—and many were of him in random situations with other people—he and Ron walking towards their seat at the last Quidditch World Cup; he and Kay-Kay taking a statement from an old shopkeeper after a theft; he and Dean Thomas enjoying a pint at the Leaky—

Harry shoved the photos aside. His heart was beginning to pound uncomfortably. He grabbed a clipping. **_Harry Potter to Attend Grand Opening!_** Below the headline was a grainy photo of him waving half-heartedly. He picked up another. **_Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley - Is There Tarnish on the Golden Couple?_** That one had a photo of Ginny pushing him away and shoving through the crowd around them. Harry had to shut his eyes at the memory. It had been close to the end for them, when fighting had replaced conversation, and hurt feelings were more numerous than smiles.

Steeling himself, he spread everything out in a large fan on the floor. The material was numerous. What he'd thought were mementos seemed to be anything but. It was not a collection of photos gathered by a lover; it was a dossier. But why would Eddie have a profile on him? He was a Quidditch gear salesman. It made no sense!

_Is he really?_ Harry's cynical side seemed to have Malfoy's voice. _What do you really know about Eddie Carmichael?_

"Everything," Harry muttered to himself. "I know everything. I moved in with him, for fuck's sake!" And Eddie had never been anything but lovely, had never done anything even vaguely suspicious.

Harry swept all of the photos and clippings together and stuffed them back into the false book. He replaced it on the shelf and then stared at it for long minutes. No answers came to him, so he killed the lights in the flat and went to bed.

Sleep eluded him for a long time.

**29th June, 2005 - Wednesday**

An old woman opened the door and smiled at Harry toothily. One of her front teeth was gold and her glasses were thicker than butterbeer bottles, making her eyes look enormous. Her wispy white hair was partially covered in a lacy purple shawl.

"Come in out of the rain, deary, you'll catch your death." She hobbled back and motioned Harry inside. He stepped through the door, trying not to think of gingerbread houses and hungry witches, but the room was prohibitively dark, with only a single candle on the mantle, guttering weakly in a glass jar full of melted wax. "This way."

She tottered slowly through another doorway and Harry followed, tempted to light his wand to keep from tripping over any obstacles. Thankfully, the light brightened as they traversed a long hallway. She pushed open a wooden portal and the brightness therein was a welcome change from the rest of the house.

Once inside, Harry stopped and stared. The room was huge, and filled with tables, desks, and shelves, all of which were covered in row upon row of small blue bottles.

"Hello, Harry! I see you found the place." Malfoy sat in one corner, perched upon a tall stool with a small notebook and quill in his hands.

"Um… yeah. I'm not sure why you wanted me to meet you here."

"Well, I needed to drop in and see Agatha—isn't she a dear—and since I should not be meeting you in any more public places, at least until this Rosier business is attended to, I thought why not kill two birds with one stone? So here we are."

The old woman, Agatha, Harry presumed, wandered over to a table and lifted her wand. She picked up a blue bottle and spelled the stopper free before pouring the contents into a large bowl. She set the empty bottle aside and repeated the motion with another. Puzzled, Harry turned back to Malfoy.

"Okay. What did you find out?"

Malfoy beckoned to him and Harry navigated his way through the tables to stand nearer Malfoy, who Transfigured a small rubbish bin into a second stool for Harry. "And the other reason is that dear Agatha is deaf as a post unless you stand next to her and bellow. She won't pay us any mind unless we specifically include her."

Harry nodded and glanced again at Agatha, who carried on with her bottle emptying as though they were not even present.

"What is the matter?"

Harry's attention snapped back to Malfoy, surprised at the question. "Nothing."

"You've found something. Tell me."

About to deny it, Harry paused, wishing he could unburden himself, but not quite ready to do so. "Why did you tell me not to trust Eddie? Do you know something about him?"

"I know he is not worthy of you. What do you know about him?"

Harry gave him a wry grin. "You realise that sounds insane, coming from you?"

Malfoy leaned closer, so close that Harry thought he might topple off the stool and into his lap. "One day you might have to acknowledge that I've changed since our tumultuous school days."

He was near enough that Harry could see the marvellous colour of his lashes—pale near the lids and darkening to gold at the tips—and smell the smooth bite of his cologne. This time it made Harry think of mountain lakes. He wanted to lean closer and breathe it in. Something about Malfoy's scent was strangely calming, or perhaps it was Malfoy himself who was beginning to have that effect on him. It was a dangerous thought; even so, Harry did not pull away.

"You have changed," Harry admitted, "but that is not helping me with Eddie."

Malfoy straightened slowly and went back to making notes in his book. "Is Eddie _darling_ awake yet?"

"No." Harry felt a twinge of guilt. In truth, he didn't know whether or not Eddie had awakened. After wrestling with suspicion over the photos all night, Harry hadn't been ready to go to St Mungo's and face him. He needed to set his mind straight first.

And there was still the possibility that Malfoy had planted the photos. He had warned Harry about Eddie from the beginning—what if he had some strange agenda that involved separating Harry from Eddie? From the case files linked, however vaguely, to Malfoy, Harry suspected he was ruthless enough to think little of planting a few suspicious pictures and news clippings.

"I am fairly certain that Rosier's target is Hermione Granger." Malfoy's tone did not change from his usual cheerful conversational lilt and it took Harry a moment to process it.

"_What?_"

There was a loud clink and Harry looked over to see Agatha staring at him through her distorting lenses. He fixed a reassuring smile on his face and she smiled back before returning to her task. Harry turned back to Malfoy with a tense frown. Malfoy nodded.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Rosier asked me for something and I did some sleuthing amongst some acquaintances. It seemed Rosier has also requested floor plans and property layouts of several large-scale event venues. Including Shepherd's Farm."

If Harry hadn't been already seated he would have needed a chair. He felt knocked for a loop. "The House-Elf Freedom Fair."

"The House-Elf Freedom Fair." Malfoy's repetition was quiet.

Hermione had been working tirelessly since the war to free house-elves and her position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had turned her into a force to be reckoned with. She had finally introduced the House-Elf Freedom Act, which would go before the Wizengamot for a vote within a few weeks. Hermione had been instrumental in drumming up support for the bill, inciting letter-writing campaigns and fund-raising events aimed at swaying the members of the Wizengamot towards growing public support for the idea.

"I thought you said Rosier typically takes out his victims by causing large-scale explosions or things that have multiple victims, as a way of pointing the blame towards an accident, and obfuscating the identity of the real victim."

Malfoy raised a brow—surprised that Harry knew the meaning of the words obfuscating, possibly—and then nodded. "Generally, yes."

"Then who would hire him? This event will entertain people from all over the wizarding world! What if the guest list contained someone the patron would not want to lose?"

"Harry, you realise that some old-school pure-blood is probably behind it, and they would consider it a bonus if Muggleborns and blood traitors were killed in the process of taking out Granger. Of course they would warn away anyone they wanted to preserve."

"All right, we will keep a close eye on the guest list and check everyone who cancels prior to the event. We can follow up and delve into their backgrounds."

"A good place to start." Malfoy nodded.

"And I'll talk Hermione out of attending."

Malfoy chuckled. "I wish you luck with that."

Harry pushed a hand through his hair, knowing Malfoy was right on that account. This was Hermione's life-blood. She would not step away easily, if at all. He frowned and looked at Agatha, who was carefully pouring liquid back into the tiny blue bottles. "What is Agatha doing, anyway?"

"Diluting Pepper-up potion."

"Diluting… why?"

"Well, she pours the contents of twenty bottles into the bowl and adds vodka, increasing the potency and the soporific effects of the potion by nine percent. And then she refills the old bottles, plus an additional twenty, and sells them to apothecaries. We purchase the original Pepper-up wholesale in bulk quantity, and procure the vodka directly from a renegade manufacturer in Russia for a song. It's a real money maker." Malfoy sounded genuinely pleased.

"That's… totally illegal. I should arrest you right now for admitting all that to me."

Malfoy gave him a disappointed stare. "Harry, honestly. Are you actually going to arrest me for petty potions diluting when Hermione Granger's life is at stake? No one is being hurt by the transaction—as I said, the alcohol actually increases the potency. And I'm far better help to you out here with access to my network than I would be locked away inside that dingy room on Level Ten."

Harry gave him a level stare, but Malfoy did not look away. "Can you just… keep your illegal activities to yourself from now on? Please?"

Malfoy beamed at him. "Of course."

Harry had to look away before he started internally waxing poetic about how attractive Malfoy's smile had become. "What are you writing, anyway?"

"I am calculating how rich this little… illegal endeavour is going to make me. And Agatha, of course, since she receives the largest portion of it. She lost her only son in the war. I do what I can."

Harry looked at Agatha, happily emptying bottles for Malfoy's potion racket, and felt a peculiar twist in his heart. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Malfoy was a git.

oOo

"No, Harry. I can't cancel this. It's too important."

"Told you she'd say that, mate." Ron lifted a giant spoonful of crunchy cereal flakes to his mouth. Hermione spelled the milk jug back into the cooler with a twitch of her wand.

Harry frowned at them both. He was annoyed with Ron for not being more concerned about Hermione's welfare. He had warned them about Rosier plotting to kill her—and possibly many others in attendance—and Hermione had simply looked thoughtful whilst Ron had shrugged and said, "We'll just have to stop him."

"Look, Rosier is incredibly dangerous. Malfoy even says not to take him lightly. Looke what he did to Eddie! He uses Muggle weapons and magic together. We have no idea what he's planning!"

"I've been working too long and too hard for this, Harry. Whether I'm in danger or not has no bearing on the upcoming vote. This could mean freedom for all house-elves! I'm willing to take that risk. Of course, that doesn't mean I won't take precautions. Do you have any information on this Rosier?"

"Yeah." Harry pulled the file from his pocket and restored it to original size. Malfoy had given him most of it, far more information than the tiny report he'd gathered from the Ministry. He dropped the thick mass onto the table. "It's ugly. Things we'd never suspected he'd been involved in. So many deaths. It's sickening."

"How is Eddie?" Hermione asked gently. She sat down next to Ron and reached across to touch Harry's hand.

"He's…" Harry powered through the stab of guilt. "I'm going to see him this afternoon. He might be awake by then."

Still crunching bites of cereal, Ron took the file and began to flip through it. His expression grew sober and he finally pushed away his bowl, partially uneaten. "Hermione… this is really serious. Are you sure you have to go? Can't you send someone else and not attend? We can Polyjuice someone to take your place."

Harry nodded. Finally, someone was realising the severity of the situation. "Rosier is ruthless, Hermione. He stabbed Eddie nearly to death in order to _ask a question_." Harry still wasn't certain why Rosier had targeted Eddie, or more likely, Harry himself. Malfoy had only looked thoughtful when Harry had asked about Rosier's motive.

"Are you honestly suggesting that we send someone else into danger in my place?"

Ron flushed. "I meant an Auror, or something. You know, someone trained to deal with dangerous situations?"

"And what about the innocents in attendance? Who is going to Polyjuice as them? The whole Auror department?"

Ron perked up. "Hey! That's not a bad idea."

Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry sighed and shook his head. "An operation on that scale would not go unnoticed. It would get back to Rosier."

Hermione began to look through the papers Ron had scattered on the table. "Why wouldn't he simply attack me somewhere else? Diagon Alley would be simpler than this elaborate setup. It's no secret that I go to Flourish and Blott's regularly, and it was in the _Daily Prophet_ that I purchase scones every Wednesday at The Busy Baker. There must be a reason he is planning to do it at the House-Elf Freedom Fair. Does Malfoy know?"

Harry nodded. "Rosier does things on a large scale with massive casualties in order to confuse the identity of the real victim. Most of his assassinations have been written off as freak accidents. Also, Malfoy thinks he's being paid by someone opposed to the House-elf Freedom Act. Possibly a pure-blood with deep pockets."

Hermione sighed. "Well, there are certainly a lot of those, and most pure-bloods are opposed to the Act. That hardly narrows it down, but at least it explains the motive. Don't they realise that killing me at such an event might backfire? It could elevate me to the level of martyr and sway public opinion in favour of the bill as a backlash." She seemed disturbingly okay with the notion.

"Malfoy says Rosier's backers tend to be not too bright."

"You say that a lot these days, mate. 'Malfoy says.'"

"He hasn't been wrong yet."

"He could still be setting up this whole thing. Hell, he could be the one paying Rosier."

Harry felt a twinge at that, but then he shook his head. "Why would Malfoy care about house-elf rights? Malfoy Manor is half-demolished. Abandoned."

Ron snorted. "That doesn't mean he hasn't set himself up somewhere else with a collection of house-elf slaves. Where does he live now? Do you even know?"

Harry shook his head and thought about asking Malfoy the next time he saw him, even though he doubted he would get a straight answer. The story about Malfoy's bisexuality was the only personal detail Harry had received; everything else was clouded in mystery.

"I think I'll go see Eddie now. Just _try_ to think about alternatives, okay?" Harry gave Hermione a stern look.

She nodded. "Let us know if Eddie's coherent enough for visitors. We'll drop in as soon as he's awake enough to appreciate company."

Ron nodded. Hermione frequently spoke for both of them. They had lived together for five years, although Hermione refused to get married and "start popping out babies" and Ron seemed perfectly fine with the arrangement, despite his mother's arguments.

"I will," Harry promised and took the Floo to St Mungo's.

Eddie seemed to be peacefully resting, but he opened his eyes and smiled after Harry sat next to the bed for a few minutes.

"Hey," Eddie whispered and raised his hand. After a few moments of groping in the air, Harry caught his hand and held it tightly.

"You're going to be okay."

"So they tell me. How are you?"

Harry snorted, suddenly feeling guilty, not only for suspecting Eddie, but for having such a dangerous job that invited senseless attacks from people like Ralston Rosier. Maybe he really did need to leave the Aurors. After he made sure Hermione was safe, of course, and Rosier was locked up for good.

"Fine. All things considered."

"I should have let you strengthen the wards." Eddie's voice broke and Harry swallowed over the lump in his throat.

"I took care of that." It was true. Harry had spent a solid hour working on the wards. He doubted a team of trained Aurors could break through them now. Pushing aside his doubts, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Eddie's forehead. "Ron and Hermione said they will drop in and visit when you're feeling better."

Eddie nodded. "It's so hard… to stay awake."

Harry chuckled. "They like to keep their patients asleep here, I've noticed. Less trouble, I think."

"You should know."

Another rush of guilt assaulted Harry. His frequent visits to the hospital had been a sore point between them in the past, and part of what had spurred Eddie into asking him to quit, despite the fact that Harry didn't think he'd spent more time at St Mungo's than any other Auror. At least, not excessively more time.

"Yeah.

Eddie's voice became a whisper. "Harry. When you come back…"

Harry leaned closer. "Yes?"

"Bring Cauldron Cakes. The food here is terrible."

Harry chuckled and kissed the knuckles of Eddie's hand before placing it gently back on the bed. He got to his feet and went out, wrestling with his doubts. How could Eddie be anything other than what he seemed?

He took the Floo to the Ministry and then went to his office to see if anything urgent had arisen. His Inbox was empty, since he was technically still on leave. He sent a memo to see if Kingsley was free. He was, so Harry went to his office and detailed Malfoy's information and suspicions regarding Rosier and Hermione. Kingsley advised him not to tell anyone else, since they had no way of knowing who was financing Rosier's operation. It could have been anyone, even those with ties to the Ministry. There were many opponents to the House-elf Freedom Act, and only some of those had been vocal.

After leaving Kingsley's office, Harry headed back to the Auror Division and dropped in to Seamus Finnigan's cubicle. Seamus was just finishing up a report, so Harry waited until he rolled it up and tossed it into his Outbox, where it vanished with a tiny pop.

"What's up, Harry?"

"Do you mind knocking off a few minutes early? I'm in the mood for a pint."

"As long as you clear it with Robards if he decides to chew my arse over it."

"Deal." Harry grinned.

Seamus straightened his desk and then shucked his Auror robes and pulled on a brown cloak. "Still raining out there?"

"Of course. Kneazles and krups."

"Damn it. I'm pants at Umbrella Charms."

"We can Floo to the Leaky."

"Brilliant."

The Leaky Cauldron was nearly empty, which would change once the Ministry and other businesses let out for the evening, so they chose a corner table near the front. Harry bought them a couple of pints and some gravy-covered open-faced beef sandwiches. Then he cast a _Muffliato_ to mask their conversation.

"What's up?" Seamus mumbled through a mouthful of food.

"I need you to do a background check for me. As thorough as possible, but I'd prefer no one else know about it."

Seamus lifted a brow as he chewed.

"On Eddie Carmichael."

Seamus nearly choked. He swallowed hard, coughed, and then took a gulp of his beer. . "Eddie? Why?"

"I have reason to suspect he might be hiding something. It could be nothing. It could be someone trying to make me believe in things that aren't there, but I need to be certain. Can you do it for me?"

"Sure."

"And be careful. If there is something there, I don't want it getting back to Eddie. And if there isn't… Well, I don't want him thinking I suspect him."

"Yeah, that could be awkward." Seamus smirked.

"Thanks, Seamus. I owe you one."

~TBC~


	7. Chapter 7

(I felt like posting early.)

**30th June, 2005 - Thursday**

"I may have a lead on Rosier's financiers."

Malfoy looked out of place on Hermione's floral sofa, despite his relaxed pose. The room seemed too small for him, somehow, as though his presence alone was too large to be contained. Or perhaps Harry simply needed more sleep. He had tossed and turned most of the night and had finally crawled out of bed just after 4 a.m. to make a cup of tea and pore over the layout of the grounds where the House-elf Freedom Fair was to be held.

They still had no idea how Rosier planned to infiltrate the place, which had been heavily warded and was now being patrolled by private security guards—hired by Harry—and undercover Hit Wizards—assigned by Kingsley.

"Financiers, plural?" Hermione sipped at her tea. She looked more uncomfortable than Malfoy, even though she sat in her own favourite chair across from him.

"It makes sense. I've tracked a number of recent payments to a corporation known as A.L.A.—I've no idea yet what that stands for—but so far I haven't had any luck in ferreting out whom or what fronts it. The A.L.A. Gringotts account receives a number of smaller payments trickling in from various sources, which leads me to believe that Rosier's backer is not a single entity, but is actually a collective. With that said, it would be a simple matter for Shacklebolt's people to locate and infiltrate them. Unfortunately for you, Granger, we haven't the time for that."

"Because he's going to strike in two days."

"Correct."

"Wait, you didn't bring him in before because you wanted him to lead us to the people who hired him. Now that you've got a lead on that, can't you just arrange another meeting with him and we can take him down?"

Malfoy shook his head. "He would never agree to a meeting this near to the event, and it would be difficult to concoct a valid excuse for one. If Rosier should disappear, then his employers would tip the cauldron and run. We might be able to track a few of them, but more would slip through our fingers. To collect the largest number of fish, we must allow the net to settle as planned."

"That's easy for you to say! You won't even be there!"

"Of course I will. Someone has to be there to identify Rosier."

Harry glared at him. "I can identify him. Believe me, I'll never forget that face after what he did to Eddie."

"Really? And what did he look like?"

Harry described Rosier in detail and Malfoy shook his head.

"Polyjuice, Potter. Rosier has black hair, shot through with grey, and very close-cropped. He has a short beard that he's obsessively proud of and a large nick in his left ear left by a near-miss with a Severing Charm."

Harry was horrified. "Then won't he just use Polyjuice again? How will any of us identify him?"

"Luckily for us, Ralston is clever, but not particularly imaginative. This is why I've sent Granger everything I know about his prior attacks—he will most likely repeat something he has previously used. You will notice something of a pattern of repetition. I've seen many of his Polyjuice disguises and can identify him on sight if he uses one that he's used before. With that said, he may come up with one I haven't seen, in which case we'll need to identify him by his wand. Have you put measures in place to perform a wand check?"

Harry nodded. "All guests will be required to enter through the front gate and present their wands for identification."

"With the wards in place and Anti-Apparition Charms set, he won't have any choice other than to enter with everyone else. Would you recognise his wand if you saw it?"

Harry thought about it and tried to remember how it had looked pressed against Eddie's throat. "I'm… I'm not sure. It was dark wood, a bit gnarled, I think."

"Yes. It is walnut. I would recognise it anywhere."

"Wouldn't he use a different wand?" Harry tried not to think about the fact that Rosier had _his_ wand. It was doubtful he would be foolish enough to attempt to use that one, however.

"It's possible, but unlikely. He will want to have his best assets close at hand, and he's been out of the country long enough that it's unlikely someone would recognise it. Most of the snobs that will be in attendance were not exactly in Rosier's social circle."

"Hey!" Hermione looked affronted.

"Don't be hypocritical, Granger. You know the invite list contains those likeliest to throw their Galleons at your cause. Although I'm certain you peppered the event with enough rabble to disguise that fact."

Hermione's eyes narrowed to a murderous bandwidth. Despite the fact that Malfoy was attempting to help, he seemed to be giving her cause to have him thrown out bodily. Then again, that might have been Malfoy's intention. Harry intervened before she could explode.

"Speaking of the guest list, it's unlikely that any of Rosier's employers will show up, isn't that right? If they know his mode of operation, they'll stay as far away as possible." He gave Hermione a look that urged her to exercise restraint.

"True. I assume Granger has created a list of potential suspects already." Malfoy lifted a brow and Hermione gave a curt nod. "If any of them are on the guest list, you might make a note of them. And follow up on anyone that doesn't show. Provided, that is, that Rosier gives everyone time to arrive. As his primary target, you will be there most of the day, so theoretically, he could strike at any time."

"But you don't think he will," Harry guessed.

Malfoy shook his head. The motion caused a lock of his platinum hair to drop over his forehead and he pushed it back absently. "No. He likes carnage. It helps to disguise his real motive. Anyone outside of our immediate circle will assume it was either some bizarre accident, or that it was meant as a general act of terrorism or a dramatic political statement."

"An accident," Hermione repeated. "I've looked through your files—thank you for those, by the way—and he does tend to utilise the 'accident' method. Natural gas explosions, Muggle petrol trucks, simple spells gone awry, _food poisoning_… It's a fairly large list."

"Yes, but he isn't afraid of repetition and some of it we can rule out immediately. Natural gas, for one, is not an option as there are no naturally occurring sources in the area. And it's far enough from Muggle travel routes that it would be impractical to attempt an automobile explosion. It would also be nearly impossible to drive one through the metal gates and into the fortified Manor. The Farm is solidly built."

"Food poisoning?"

Hermione smirked. "We've eliminated that possibility, at least. The caterer was booked months ago and rather than alert Rosier that his plot might be uncovered, we will allow them to bring the food in and then immediately send it through a Vanishing Cabinet to the Ministry where it will be quickly analysed and returned. We should know within moments if any of it isn't safe."

"So that leaves a spell."

"Yes, and based on his prior history, it will either trigger an explosion or a lethal curse. We need to figure out which and how he plans to do it."

Setting all former differences aside, Hermione and Malfoy leaned over the table and began to hammer through potential attacks and how to counter them. Harry sat back and watched them go to it, feeling inordinately pleased with them both.

**1st July, 2005 - Friday**

Draco walked up the cobblestone path, wary of exposed edges that might catch on the soles of his shoes. It was tricky enough to walk on a flat surface; cobbles seemed built to sabotage such an endeavour, particularly when trying to avoid the collected puddles of water.

Blaise leaned close. "You're rocking those heels, Draco. Have you been practicing?"

"Every night. It's great for the gluteus maximus. You should try it."

Blaise snorted, but Draco suspected he was mulling the idea over for validity. Draco ignored him and sashayed up to the barred iron gate.

"Persephone Johnston, here with a delivery of bunting," he announced.

Auror Klein—the one Potter called Kay-Kay—flipped through a large sheaf of papers on her clipboard. Behind her, Seamus Finnigan stood with arms crossed and wand in hand. He actually looked intimidating and ready, which was a bit of a surprise. Draco hadn't thought the mild-mannered former Gryffindor had it in him. Both Aurors were dry; the rain cascaded over an Umbrella Charm that covered an area a good twelve feet across. Draco wondered which of them had cast it.

"Johnston, Johnston… what the hell is bunting?"

Draco heaved a dramatic sigh. "Merlin save me from the uncouth barbarians of the world. Bunting! It's decorative fabric for the chair seats. All forty-two of them. Shrunk for transport, of course." Draco indicated the box in Blaise's arms. Blaise currently looked like a caricature of Odin, with bulging muscles, a ridiculous beard, and an eye patch.

Auror Klein gave them both a hard stare. "You really need him to carry that tiny box?"

"Of course not. But I will need his help in setting up. You don't expect me to decorate forty-two chairs on my own, do you?"

"Open it up."

Finnigan looked even warier as Auror Klein pulled out her wand and poked through the box containing the shrunken lavender fabric. Finding nothing else within, she shrugged and then demanded their wands. Her eyes widened comically when Draco placed his wand on the clipboard and then she smirked.

"Nice tits, Malfoy," she murmured, barely audible.

"I didn't realise that was your preference, Klein. Duly noted."

Klein snorted, but did not refute his statement. She gave Blaise's wand a cursory glance and handed it back.

"No sign of Rosier?"

Klein shook her head. Draco had given them a detailed description of Rosier's wand, although it was nondescript enough that he worried the Aurors would let it pass. Wands were resistant to magical disguises, although it was possible to add a decorative grip, or encase it within another object, as Draco's father had done with his cane.

Few people were being allowed entry at this stage and Draco didn't think Rosier would chance an early arrival when the gatekeepers were fresh and alert. He would most likely turn up later to blend with the crowd.

"You may pass."

"I'll be back thirty minutes, before the guests are scheduled to begin arriving."

"All right. Good luck."

Draco passed through the gate as Finnigan held it open and then he and Blaise continued on the path towards the main house. Draco's eyes swept the grounds, alert for any possible threat. They had narrowed down a large list of options to several potentials, but they still were not positive from which avenue the threat would come.

Another Auror that Draco barely recognised opened the door to the manor for them with a clumsy bow. His eyes swept over Draco appreciatively and Draco treated him to a mild glare of reproach. The Auror was dressed as a doorman.

Draco strolled inside and noted that, despite the rustic name of Shepherd's Farm, the place had size and elegance to rival Malfoy Manor. The exterior grounds contained stables and barns and carefully tended vegetable, herb, and potion ingredient gardens, but the house itself was a marvel of tasteful furnishings, rich carpets, and an excess of marble and crystal. Draco paused and allowed a moment of nostalgia to wash over him. How long had it been since he'd been home?

He ignored Blaise's concerned huff and pulled out his wand to cast several charms, seeking any sort of Muggle devices. He knew that Granger and Shacklebolt had already done so, but Draco never liked to rely on others when it came to personal safety.

He continued on to the dining room and repeated the process, then stopped and clucked his tongue at the large painting displayed on the wall. "Van Gogh in the dining room? Honestly, and I thought these people had taste. I see now they are simply charlatans masquerading as their more cultured brethren. Such a shame."

"What's wrong with it?" Granger demanded from the doorway.

Draco lifted a brow. "Nothing is wrong with it per se, but if you choose to look at shapeless glops of colour I think a Monet would be a better choice. Such garish colours as this would put me off my meal at dinnertime. I think Monet's Beach at Pourville would be far more soothing to the eye, and draw the diners' attention during boring stretches of conversation as they will themselves into the scene and far, far away from what will, inevitably, be a typical Ministry dinner full of self-aggrandisement and talk of how enough Galleons can solve all of the troubles of the world."

"Malfoy?" she asked in a low tone and put away her wand.

Draco gave her a short sigh. "What gave it away?"

"Harry warned me about your cynical monologues. Is he with you?"

"I am not cynical. I am a realist. And yes, Blaise, please set up the bunting. Salazar knows this place could use some softer colours, although the lavender is going to clash horribly with this green. Perhaps we can remove this painting entirely? Or cover it with fabric? Possibly a banner announcing the purpose of this grand gathering?"

"Bunting? You actually brought bunting? Have you seen Harry?"

"Potter tends to be chronically late and I assigned Pansy to him, which may have been a mistake, in hindsight, as she takes chronic lateness to be her life's mission. She is quite serious about it. I don't expect them for another twenty to thirty minutes."

Hermione shook her head, obviously exasperated. "I am going to go and oversee the food transfer. It should be arriving shortly. Luna is bringing the flowers. I sent her to fetch them from the florist rather than risk another unknown delivery person. We've cut that list to a minimum, at least. I've checked every room of the house—twice—for Muggle devices, so I think we can rule that out, at least. Merlin, I'm stressed. Perhaps I should have cancelled. It's just so bloody important and this is our last opportunity before the vote."

Granger wrung her hands for a moment and Draco blinked at her, not having seen the unshakeable woman in such a state since their school days. Impulsively, he walked over and took both of her hands in his, girly as they were at the moment. He smiled into her surprised face.

"Granger. You are going to be fine. With me and the hero of the wizarding world on your side, how can anything possibly go wrong?"

She snorted, but a smile played at the corners of her lips. "You're even less convincing as a girl."

"I dunno. I'm convinced," said a familiar voice from the second doorway and they both looked over to see Weasley standing there. Draco gave Granger's hands a squeeze and then winked at Weasley before turning to help Blaise with the bunting. He was making a mess of it, of course.

"Not like that, Brutus, honestly, have you never seen chintz before?" He cast several spells to straighten the fabric and tie the ribbons properly.

"Brutus." Weasley chortled and then asked, "When's the food get here?"

"Hungry already, Ron?"

"Always. You got that Portkey handy?"

"It's in my pocket, but you know I'm not using it whilst anyone else is in danger, including you."

"Yeah, yeah. Which means we have to find this thing before hell breaks loose. Any luck with that? And where's Harry?"

"Running late, according to Malfoy."

"Persephone!" Draco corrected in a singsong voice.

"Right. Come on, Ron, and help me with the food. And don't eat any of it until we verify that it's safe! _Persephone_, you do…whatever it is you plan to do before Harry gets here." She exited with Weasley trailing after.

"The first thing I plan to do is get rid of those heinous floral arrangements," Draco muttered as Luna Lovegood entered through the opposite door. Trailing behind her was a veritable forest of potted chrysanthemums. Lovegood stopped short.

"Oh, but you can't. These are the table centrepieces. Four in here, two in the hallway, one in each bathroom, and this large arrangement here on the central dais near the stairwell."

"I know perfectly well what they are and I also know that they look absolutely dreadful against the lavender, particularly with that hideous painting as contrast. And opaque vases? Really?"

"Technically, it's a fundraising event to lift awareness of—who are you, exactly?" Lovegood levitated the flowers to the table and levelled a surprisingly cognizant stare on Draco.

"Persephone Johnston, interior designer."

Lovegood frowned. "Well, then, I supposed you would know best, but Hermione chose the arrangements herself." She shrugged. "I was instructed to deliver the flowers, so here they are. Do you know where Hermione is? I want to see if she needs anything else."

Draco waved Lovegood away towards the kitchen. She tucked her wand into her hair and then wandered that way, multi-coloured skirts billowing behind her. Draco shook his head. She was still an odd duck.

"These pink mums will have to go. We'll save the green ones to soften the effect of that unfortunate painting, but these…" He cast several charms that transformed the plump pink mums into slender snapdragons of purple and lavender. "I would prefer to enclose them in glass to prevent them from biting any of the precious guests, but _c'est la vie_. Apparently Granger chose the vases herself."

He looked at the dark blue glass critically and added a few sprigs of larkspur. "Blaise, help me with these." The next few minutes were spent in silence as they adjusted the floral arrangements to Draco's satisfaction.

"Was all that really necessary?" Blaise asked.

Draco smiled and surveyed the table with a satisfied nod. "Absolutely."

oooOooo

Harry was in a panic. He had spent the morning with Eddie, who was feeling stronger and was due to be released that evening, and then had popped into the Ministry to give Kingsley an update and go over every possible contingency plan. He had gone to Eddie's flat for a quick sandwich and then had Flooed to Grimmauld Place, where he'd nearly hexed Pansy Parkinson out of surprise when he'd discovered her lounging in his bathtub.

"What are you doing here? And how did you get in?" His voice had been several octaves higher than usual.

Parkinson had lifted her soapy arms and smirked at him; the motion had revealed more of her breasts than Harry had ever wanted to see, even including his bi-curious and sex-starved school days. "Taking a bath, and through the door."

"But this place is under a Fidelius Charm."

"Draco gave me the address. He told me to keep an eye on you and then to escort you to Granger's thing. You were taking forever, so I decided to bathe. Great tub, by the way. You should get dressed. We're late." One hand gripped the edge of the tub and Harry had feared she meant to rise and expose the rest of her sudsy body. He'd fled to his room.

A suit of clothing had been laid out on the bed. Too flustered to ask questions, Harry had changed into it. A Tempus Charm proved that they were, indeed, late. Hermione—and Malfoy—would likely be displeased. If only he could get the damned tie right.

Parkinson banged into his bedroom without knocking. She wore a red dress so tight it might have been adhered to her body with a Charm. Harry wondered how she could move her legs at all, much less wearing the hugely high black stilettos on her feet.

"Snap to it, Potter." She levelled her wand at him and his instinctive grab at his own wand was aborted when the tie around his neck snapped tight and then spun itself into a perfect knot. "Are you ready?"

"I… uh. Yeah."

She nodded and then produced a vial from somewhere. "Great. Bottoms up." She tipped it into her mouth and then waited expectantly. A moment later her features began to bulge and move. They rearranged themselves into a shape that was surprisingly similar to her own. Her hair had gone brown instead of black, and her eyes had lightened to pale blue. Her mouth was fuller and her nose was slender and straight instead of pug-like. A tattoo of a red rose decorated one breast. "I'm your date. I suppose the name _Rose_ will do and you won't have trouble remembering it."

Harry nodded. "Rose. Got it." He kept his eyes fixed on her face. He was gay, but he wasn't sure she'd received that memo.

She took his arm. "Let's get going, _Harry_."

Taking a deep breath, Harry Apparated them away.

oOo

They checked in with Kay-Kay and Seamus at the front gate. Kay-Kay lifted a brow at "Rose" but said nothing beyond, "Harry Potter _and guest_."

"Has anyone else arrived?" Harry asked.

"No other guests. We don't expect them for another forty minutes."

"Stay alert." The words were unnecessary and he gave her an apologetic grin. Seamus opened the gate and Harry walked up the path with Pansy clinging to his arm. To his surprise, she pulled out her wand and cast a few spells; he recognised them as wards. "What are you warding for?"

"I don't like surprises. Ralston tends to work alone, but there is a first time for everything. He could have installed people here days ago, transfigured as trees or benches. This won't force them out, but I'll know the moment they cross my boundaries."

Harry nodded. Hermione had already thought of that, and she and Ron had spent some time taking precautions against such a thing. It was nice to see Parkinson behaving in a competent manner, however. Perhaps Malfoy had been wise to assign her to Harry's "protection" although he had rolled his eyes at the suggestion.

Inside the entry hall, Harry looked around whilst Parkinson primped her hair with a charm, complaining about the humidity. A whisper of sound drew his attention and he gripped his wand more tightly as a woman walked down the marble steps. Her footsteps were neatly muffled by the carpet, but her dress swished over her calves as she walked. She was quite beautiful; Harry had never seen her before.

"Do you know her?" Harry murmured.

"Quite well." Pansy had barely given the woman a glance; she was too busy adjusting the red dress over her breasts. "Salazar, why do these things never fit right no matter how much I practice beforehand?"

The newcomer reached the bottom of the stairs and then cocked her head and gave them both a critical stare. Something about the movement was instantly familiar and Harry felt his jaw gape open. The woman glided forwards until she stood before him, and then she pushed his mouth shut with a single finger beneath his chin.

"Now, now, Potter, don't catch any flies in there. It's unhealthy. Are you absolutely sure you're gay?"

"_I'm_ sure," Parkinson said with a snort. "He caught me naked in his tub and fled like a pack of werewolves was on his tail."

Malfoy turned an icy glare on her. "You took a bath in Potter's tub?"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Draco. It was a really nice tub and I was bored."

Harry coughed. "It was fine, really. Although it wasn't really necessary to send her as a bodyguard. And how did you get past the Fidelius, anyway? That's really disturbing."

"Like hell it wasn't. He'd still be there trying to knot his bloody tie. Where can a girl get a drink around here?"

"You're on duty." Malfoy was still glaring at her.

Parkinson stared him down and then broke into peals of laughter. "Bloody hell, Draco, sometimes you're so serious, especially when it comes to Potter. He's fine and he will continue to be fine, so lighten up. Where is Blaise?"

"Upstairs, locking every room that doesn't need to be open. Perhaps it would be best if you helped him."

"As you wish, _boss_." She smirked at him and then sauntered to the stairs and ascended.

Malfoy sighed heavily. "If she wasn't my best friend I would have killed her years ago."

Harry wasn't sure what to say about that. "You look…um."

Malfoy beamed. "Beautiful, I know. Thank you." He twirled in place and the skirt flared out around his—her—legs. Harry tried not to think about the fact that it was Malfoy under the sleek package. He failed.

"Any luck figuring out what Rosier has planned?"

"Yes. I suppose you would like a tour so that you may double-check all of our precautions." Malfoy pivoted and took Harry's arm before waving expansively. "This is the entry hall. By the way, trust none of the serving staff and please be certain to refer to me as Persephone or Ms Johnston. We have no way of knowing how many of them Rosier might have bribed or threatened."

Harry nodded and allowed Malfoy to escort him through the house, loudly pointing out features as though he owned the place, and giving him sotto voce information regarding security measures and steps already taken. It was obvious that Malfoy knew something; he was behaving far too smugly for someone nervous about possibly being blown to pieces.

The ballroom was empty. It had been lined with delicate-looking chairs and one wall was dominated by a huge, magical organ. Its bright metal pipes extended up nearly to the high ceiling. Harry spent extra time casting Detection Charms in the ballroom; it was where he most expected danger to originate. The room would be the initial gathering place for the guests. They would enjoy champagne and cocktails whilst waiting for the bell to announce dinner, and then they would adjourn to the dining room.

Malfoy tapped an impatient stiletto and Harry turned on him. "All right, tell me what you know. I'm getting damned nervous about trusting my best friend's life to you, when I don't even trust you with my own safety. Give me something concrete or I'm taking her out of here and cancelling this event.

Malfoy shrugged. "I think I know what he's planning. However, you want him captured, correct? We can neutralise the threat he poses right now, but it would alert him and he would be gone, only to strike again with more elaborate and careful preparation. It would be wise to allow this to play out and catch him in the act."

"The act of attempted murder."

"Well, yes. Anything less will give you nothing but circumstantial evidence. He would walk after his first meeting with legal counsel."

Harry scowled, knowing he was right, but that didn't mean he was willing to gamble with Hermione's safety. They had tried to convince her to allow one of the Aurors to impersonate her with Polyjuice, but she had refused to put anyone else in danger in her stead.

Malfoy stepped closer, until his (her?) breasts brushed the lapels of Harry's dress robes. He was slightly shorter than Harry in his current guise, and his bright blue eyes stared into Harry's. "I'm not going to let anything happen to Granger. I know she's important to you and she is, therefore, important to me."

"I still don't understand this weird fixation you have with me right now. It doesn't make sense."

Malfoy cocked his head and his red lips curved into a smile. "Maybe I just like you, Harry. Servant." With that, Malfoy wrapped his arms around Harry's neck and pulled him into a kiss. Harry was too stunned to react. The lips beneath his were soft and warm, slick with lipstick, and tasted of mint.

A throat-clearing sound behind them caused Harry to pull away with an intake of breath, and he turned to see a man in the doorway, staring at them through wide eyes. "I'm sorry, Mister Potter—I mean Auror Potter, sir. I'm here to stack the champagne flutes. I can come back."

Harry coughed. "No, it's fine. We were just. Um." He flushed, because it was obvious what they'd been doing, and he wondered how long before the papers received the story about Harry kissing a blond woman. It would likely cause a dramatic storm after he'd come out as preferring men and—Merlin! What would Eddie say?

Harry grabbed Malfoy's elbow roughly. "Come along, Persephone. We need to go and speak with Hermione now."

They walked past the man, who did not take his eyes from them, probably trying to place Malfoy, or at least memorise his current feminine features to describe them to the reporters.

"What the hell was that?" Harry demanded the moment they were out of earshot.

"Do I really need to explain the mechanics of—?"

"I know what it was," Harry hissed. "I want to know why."

A bright grin flashed at him and Harry realised it was all wrong. Malfoy's teeth were different. "Just a diversion, Potter. No need to fret."

_A diversion for whom?_ he wanted to growl, but he figured Malfoy would only get more cryptic if he pushed it. He just… didn't want to be laughed at. Hermione nearly ran into them as they approached the door to the kitchen. Ron was at her heels, looking anxious.

"There you are. Finally. The guests are due to begin arriving. Are you going out?" Harry nodded and Hermione handed a sheaf of papers to Malfoy. "Here are the programmes you requested. Are you ready?"

"Relax, Granger, and don't forget to breathe. Stay close to Blaise. In his present state he's rather formidable."

"So am I," Ron interjected.

Malfoy chuckled and it came out as a girlish giggle. He was rather charming as a woman. "Of course you are, Weasley. Come along, Potter. I assume you have your cloak?"

Harry had worn a messenger bag with his invisibility cloak stuffed inside. He nodded and then headed for the nearest washroom where he slung it on. He crept back out and nudged Malfoy's shoulder. "Let's go."

"I'm off to greet the guests, then." Malfoy waved at Ron and Hermione and traipsed out. The Auror at the front door let him out and Harry followed close behind. "Careful not to tramp on my shoes, Potter. They are difficult enough to walk in."

Harry decided that silence was the better part of valour and he remained quiet until they reached the front gate. Malfoy cancelled his Umbrella Charm when they reached the invisible canopy of Kay-Kay's shelter.

Harry stood quiet and tried not to get bored as Malfoy engaged Kay-Kay and Seamus in a rousing discussion of the merits of Furnunco's Broom Polish. Fully three quarters of Malfoy's comments sounded like sexual innuendos and soon Seamus was chortling madly and Harry was struggling to remain quiet. Thankfully, it wasn't long before the first guest popped into sight just outside the gate.

Harry recognised the trio as minor officials from the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Kay-Kay waved them forwards.

Hello, Mr Blakesley. Mr Zirkle, and Mrs Hemingway. Right this way, and present your wands, please." Three wands hit the clipboard and Harry gave them a cursory scan. None of them resembled the wand that Malfoy had described.

Malfoy handed them each a programme and greeted them with a vapid smile. "Thank you for coming to the House-elf Freedom Faire. Here is a brochure explaining the upcoming Wizengamot vote with a list of the things _you_ can do to help. Please make your way to the front entrance, there, and the doorman will assist you further. Thank you and have a _lovely_ time." One manicured hand gestured towards the manor house and Harry wondered if Malfoy had shellacked his own fingernails, or if the woman he'd lifted the hair from had been as fastidious about personal grooming. The thought of Malfoy painting his own nails was… bizarrely attractive.

Harry scowled and shook off his Malfoy musings. He was here to catch a murderer, not moon over Draco Malfoy. It was rather annoying how the man was wearing a female form, and yet Harry couldn't help but see the man beneath.

When the three guests had tromped up the path towards the house, Malfoy leaned close to Harry. "And so it begins," he whispered.

"Three down and…fifty seven to go," Kay-Kay said cheerfully. Seamus groaned.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Harry murmured back into Malfoy's ear.

Malfoy only smiled.

~TBC~


	8. Chapter 8

Despite Draco's outward calm, his anticipation had turned into a simmering anxiety. What if he was wrong? What if Ralston had planted a red herring and had a different plot in mind? What if something actually happened to Granger, or even worse, to Potter? Not that he would let anything happen to Potter, of course. Draco wasn't letting him out of his sight-so to speak, since he was, at the moment, invisible.

Potter would never forgive him if anything happened to his precious Granger, which was why Draco had assigned Blaise and Pansy to stick close to her and the Weasel, in order to get them out in the event that the shit hit the cauldron.

Draco smiled vapidly at an elderly wizard he recognised as having more Galleons in his Gringotts account than the fabled Midas, mainly because he was a white-knuckled tightwad, evidenced by the fact that the robes he currently wore hadn't been in fashion since 1812. Granger would be lucky to squeeze a single Knut out of the old skinflint. He would certainly eat his weight in free food, however. The old man took the proffered paper from Draco's hand and ogled him through thick-lensed spectacles.

"Thank you, dearie," he said with a leer.

Draco refrained from hexing him and instead pointed him firmly towards the manor. Hopefully he would run into Pansy, who wouldn't be so reluctant with the hexes. Behind Draco, Potter sighed, barely audible.

"Patience, Potter. It's only been thirty-five minutes. We've got dozens of guests still to come."

"If Rosier will even show up. Merlin, why did she invite Wells-Barton? The man is an insufferable asshat."

Draco looked at the approaching couple with disdain. Potter was right; Wells-Barton was a tall man with a bearing similar to Draco's father; he wore entitlement like a cloak of office. He was a tall, sallow man with a sharp goatee and heavy, steel-grey eyebrows that seemed an extension of his wiry hair. His companion was a mousy, timid-looking woman who appeared thirty years his junior.

Draco snorted. "Granger is wasting her time with that one. It's pointless to attempt to convert the un-convertible. Anton will never give up his house-elves."

Wells-Barton approached and dropped his wand onto the clipboard. Auror Klein greeted him familiarly, but with a reserved tone. It was obvious she knew him as well, and found him distasteful. Then Draco caught a better look at his wand. He stepped back and trod on Potter's foot, earning a tiny exhalation of protest.

"Welcome to the House-elf Freedom Faire, sir. Please take the path to the house where you will be greeted. Enjoy your afternoon." Draco pasted on a fake smile as Wells-Barton and the woman turned away. Draco gestured at a point past the gates, effectively dismissing Wells-Barton. "Oh, is that Oliver Wood? Catch me, Auror Klein, I might swoon! Isn't he handsome?"

When Wells-Barton was out of earshot, Potter leaned close enough that Draco could feel his warmth. Merlin, it was a rather cold day; he hadn't noticed until the urge to cosy up to Potter's side became overwhelming.

"Are you sure?" Potter whispered.

"Absolutely positive." Draco barely moved his lips. Louder, he said, "Oh my, I need to tinky! Hand these out for me, won't you, darling? I'll be right back. Nature calls!"

Auror Klein took the programmes and gave him a hard stare that he returned. She had caught the wand, then, and had merely waited for him to react. Draco thought he might have to recruit her to his employment. She was quite good.

"Come on. I need to gauge his reactions." Draco's high heels clacked loudly on the cobbles as he walked. He could hear Potter trotting next to him, struggling to keep up.

"His reactions to what?"

"Certain things."

"Are you going to tell me anything about this or do I need to hex you?"

"No time, Potter. I'll need to stick close to him. You can probably take off the cloak and mingle—he might want to save his big moment for your presence."

Rosier had disappeared into the house, but when Draco entered he noticed him standing in the entry hall with his companion, who Draco expected was Wells-Barton's actual wife. He only vaguely wondered what had happened to the real Wells-Barton, because the man was an arse and it wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing if he no longer walked the mortal path, not that Draco planned to mention that to Potter.

Two Ministry officials were talking with Rosier and Draco sidled near enough to overhear them discussing the rain, a familiar, if dull, topic. He moved closer to Wells-Barton's wife, who looked as though she would rather be anywhere else on earth.

"What a lovely brooch!" Draco exclaimed and peered at the hideous monstrosity of garnet and opal. The woman preened.

"Thank you. It belonged to my great grand-gran."

_It should have been buried with her_, Draco thought, but he only gave her a girlish giggle and said in a stage whisper, "I'm supposed to be outside but I was freezing my bum off and I want a drink. Personally, I think the very idea of freeing house-elves is nonsense. Do you think they are serving the cocktails yet?"

Mrs Wells-Barton's eyes lit up and she smiled at Draco. "Let's go and find out, shall we? Do you know which way is the ballroom? Excuse us, won't you, Anton?"

Draco felt Rosier's sharp stare for a moment, but he kept up a show of feminine solidarity and escorted Mrs Wells-Barton down the hall to the ballroom. Rosier and the others followed, as expected. Any mention of alcohol was guaranteed to pull every Ministry freeloader in range.

The ballroom was filled with small cliques. Draco made note of key patterns for future reference; Darrington was hovering far too close to Appleby's current mistress—that could be useful for later blackmail—and Sampson was already drunk. It was likely he'd arrived that way, the idiotic sot. If Draco'd only had the time, he would have attempted to extract some insider Quidditch information from him. There was always money to be made if one knew which players were injured or were about to leave one team for another. Draco sighed; business before business.

Rosier had taken a glass of champagne and Draco watched as he pretended to drink. Rosier was a teetotaller, although Wells-Barton certainly wasn't. Rosier's eyes swept over the crowd and fixed on a few objects in the room before he smiled. Draco relaxed minutely.

Granger swept into the room a moment later—accompanied by a watchful Weasley—and accepted a scattering of applause with a stiff bow and a short speech of welcome. Draco listened politely as Mrs Wells-Barton murmured hateful things about the disgrace of freeing house-elves and the fact that they had only come to keep abreast of the horrible situation. Draco made sympathetic noises and remained relatively near to Rosier.

Harry Potter tried to sidle in unobtrusively, but a group of sycophantic officials hurried over and pounced on him with greedy handshakes and booming voices. Draco smirked. Potter should have remained under the cloak. He'd be lucky to fight free of admirers in the event of a crisis.

"I disagree with his choice of political allies," Mrs Wells-Barton said in a mere whisper, leaning close to speak into Draco's ear, "but Mr Potter is rather handsome, don't you think?"

"My, yes," Draco said in a purring tone. "If he's half as good in the sack as he is at ridding the world of evil… Well, can you imagine?"

Mrs Wells-Barton fanned herself. "I certainly can."

There was more mingling and a small cluster of bigoted, like-minded souls attached themselves to Rosier and spoke bitterly about the good old days. They spoke quietly, however, because it was obvious to anyone with political ambition that opposing this particular measure would not be a wise idea, as the Minister for Magic and most of the Department Heads of the Ministry were on board. Draco had little doubt that the Wizengamot would bow to public pressure and allow it to pass. Everyone present knew it as well, and dared not engage in arguments at social functions.

That very conundrum was what had caused Rosier's employers to hire him. Only a violent statement could shake up the vote now, and Draco doubted anyone currently present had been bold enough to stoop to such a plot. Those responsible would be lurking in their homes, awaiting news of the imminent disaster.

Draco saw Potter becoming more and more obviously alarmed and he signalled Pansy with a minute toss of his head towards Rosier. She strolled over and inserted herself next to Rosier, and really, the man would have to be dead not to spend a few minutes admiring her assets, while Draco excused himself to use the loo.

Potter followed and dragged Draco into the nearest unlocked room. Draco removed his wrist from Potter's grip and rubbed it with a frown. "I bruise easily, you brute."

"You need to give us more information about what's going to happen. I'm about to take him down out of sheer nerves. I should have made Hermione stay home. I should have hexed her and Polyjuiced into her—"

"Gross, Potter. Trust me, Polyjuicing into your best friend is not something you'll ever want to do. There are things you will be unable to forget."

"Malfoy." Potter's tone was implacable.

Draco moved closer and ran a finger up Potter's lapel before gazing up at him flirtatiously, a move she'd seen Pansy perform thousands of times. It didn't seem to have any effect on Potter, possibly because of the momentary gender issue.

"Look, I know you have little reason to trust me beyond everything that I've done for you and the fact that I'm inherently trustworthy, but everything is going to plan. Rosier is completely relaxed and self-satisfied—honestly, he makes a better Wells-Barton than Wells-Barton. Did you notice?"

"_Malfoy_."

"Just stick close to Granger and the Weasel and if you see me even twitch in your direction, then you get them out immediately."

"I can't let all of these other people die!"

Draco reached up and took Potter's face in both hands. "You are so _adorable_ when you puff up with self-righteousness! I could kiss you again."

The power of Potter's glower was rivalled only by the depth of his blush, although Draco admitted it could have been a flush of rage rather than discomfit.

"Look, you know Granger bought into this plan. At least trust her if you won't give me the benefit of the doubt. I would not have allowed Pansy and Blaise to attend if I thought they would be in the slightest danger. I have few enough friends that I can't risk the ones I have. In fact, they are the only two. Well, there is Gryphon, but—frankly, Potter, we don't have time for this. I'm certain you'll do whatever heroic act is needed should the occasion warrant. We've already gone over every possible scenario and I need to get back to Rosier before Pansy does something stupid and gives it all away. What do you use to shave, by the way? Your face is delightfully smooth."

Potter gripped Draco's wrists and pushed him firmly away. "You are maddening, you know that?"

"You know, I've been told that, but I don't understand what they mean. Ta, Potter." Draco turned and sashayed out, giving him a wink as he passed through the door. As luck would have it, Draco nearly ran down the same serving boy that had caught them before. "The Boy-Who-Lived is insatiable," he whispered loudly, "but you didn't hear it from me."

Draco chuckled wickedly, imagining the headlines. If they all survived the next hour.

oooOooo

Harry watched as Malfoy exited the room. The man was infuriating no matter what form he wore. And yet, despite his growing anxiety and need to do something, Harry found that he really did trust Malfoy. Or maybe he was just gullible and falling prey to Malfoy's newfound charm.

Harry shook his head and left the small study, only to encounter the wide eyes of the serving boy in the hallway.

"Mums the word, sir." With those cryptic words, the boy sped away.

"Merlin," Harry muttered and went to find Ron, who was still in the ballroom. Hermione was holding an animated conversation about the house-elves at Hogwarts—freed a year prior—and how they were beginning to value their abilities to come and go at will. Harry leaned close to Ron. "Nothing useful from Malfoy. I'll move to the other side of the room, just in case."

Ron nodded. The three of them had agreed to stay alert for anything, prepared to cast Shield Charms or offensive hexes at the first sign of danger. Harry's first concern would be for his friends, but he hadn't lied to Malfoy; there was no way he planned to let Rosier hurt anyone even to get Hermione and Ron safely away.

Malfoy had returned to Rosier's side and as Harry watched he jabbed an elbow into Parkinson's side. There followed a quiet argument that Rosier seemed to find amusing, until Parkinson gave Malfoy a venomous glare and stalked away. Malfoy leaned close to Mrs Wells-Barton and spoke. Both women laughed and Rosier's speculative gaze travelled over Malfoy, who had turned away from him.

Hermione tapped the lip of her wineglass with her wand, drawing the attention of everyone. "Dinner will be served shortly. If you will all follow me to the dining room?"

They made their way down the hall and Harry knelt down as though adjusting a shoe. He followed shortly after Rosier and his party.

"You will find your name cards hovering over the plates," Hermione said. "We wanted to give everyone a chance to mingle and so drew the names randomly."

Harry knew that was a blatant lie. Hermione had spent days on the seating assignments, making certain that each undecided person—or even her direct opponents—would be seated next to someone with the potential to sway them to her cause.

As the group broke up and everyone headed towards the long table, seeking their own names, Harry noticed that Rosier had his wand out.

Immediately, he pulled out Malfoy's old wand and pushed aside a wizard in dusty orange robes, seeking a clear shot. Rosier's other hand was clenched around a small object and his lips were moving. Harry decided on a Stupefy, but before he could cast, Malfoy stepped between them.

A bolt of yellow-green light shot from Rosier's wand and hit the largest of the black vases on the table. At the same moment, Malfoy's hand reached up and dropped over Rosier's, closing over whatever object was in his hand. An instant later, Rosier and Malfoy vanished. There was a hissing sound from the vase and Harry cast a _Protego_ over the nearest bystanders, hoping to shield them from whatever chain reaction Rosier had set off.

_Portkey_, Harry realised and felt a sickening wrench of panic as he realised Malfoy could have been working with Rosier from the beginning. A heartbeat later and purple sparks began to explode from each of the floral centrepieces. The guests watched in awe and Harry's gaze shot to Ron, silently willing him to get Hermione out whilst Harry dealt with the threat.

To his surprise, Ron gaped at the growing cascade of purple and then a smile cracked his features. "Hey!" he called. "I know what this is!"

oooOooo

Draco spun out of the Portkey whirl and did not even have time to appreciate the shocked expression on the face of Wells-Barton cum Rosier before the outstretched wand was turning on him. Luckily, Draco was well prepared.

"_Stupefy!_" he hissed and jammed his wand-tip into Rosier's kidney. He followed it with an _Expelliarmus_ and a veritable whirlwind of magical ropes. Rosier toppled over like a fallen spruce.

Draco turned in a slow circle, alert for anything. It was possible Rosier had set up traps in the event someone should locate his hiding place. Nothing jumped out to attack him, so Draco began to cast Detection Charms, seeking anything and everything of potential danger.

Other than a Garroting Gas Hex trigger on a locked box, a nasty Muggle explosive wired to a leather knapsack, and a Stunner Step in front of the bedside table, Draco found nothing. He looked at Rosier's still form and shook his head in disappointment. "That's all, Ralston, really? Either you're getting lazy or your ego has grown so large that you've become complacent. Judging by the number of empty food boxes in here, I fear the latter. I believe you've joined the ranks of the unmotivated."

Draco disarmed the deadly spells, placed a Stasis Charm on the explosives—he'd let the Ministry deal with that, since he detested the inner workings of Muggle devices—and then made a slow circuit of the room searching for anything he'd missed. As he did so, he collected a small pile of treasures and placed them on the bed. The locked box, once unlocked, revealed a stack of papers, a journal, and a collection of items that would need further examination. An expensive-looking forearm wand sheath (with attached antique dagger) joined a marble potions mixing kit, a cashmere scarf, and a well-used book joined the box of treasures. Draco reached into the bodice of his dress and pulled out the small clutch purse he'd tucked in there earlier. A spell and a twist opened it to six times its width and he quickly scooped the items inside, giving thanks for the inventor of wizard-space.

When the purse was closed and returned to its snug hiding place, Draco turned to make certain Rosier was still unconscious. He was beginning to stir, so Draco hit him with an extra strong Stunner, mostly because he felt like it.

"Just two more things before I go. _Accio_ Harry Potter's wand!" The wardrobe door shot open and Potter's wand shot out from its hiding place inside the pocket of a black cape. Obviously, Rosier hadn't decided what to do with it even up to the point of putting the damned thing under lock and key. It was sad how the mighty had fallen. Draco's final bit of business was to cast a Locator Charm and attune it with a long range.

He peered out the window to look for landmarks, but saw nothing familiar through the pouring rain. A double-decker bus trundled past, so Draco assumed he was in London. Hopefully it wouldn't be too long a jaunt back to the Farm.

He Apparated in front of the iron gates to see Auror Finnigan standing alone, looking bored.

"I see the place is still standing," Draco commented as he approached and jerked his chin towards the house.

"How did you get out?" Finnigan asked.

"Portkey," Draco admitted and held up the crumpled cigarette pack that had been Rosier's Portkey.

"Does Harry know you're gone?"

"He was standing not eight feet away when I disappeared, so I'm quite certain he does. Are you going to let me back in?"

"Yeah, all right." Finnigan pushed the gate open and Draco gave him a jaunty wave before striding back to the manor. Although he was nearly one hundred percent confident of his plan's success, there was still a miniscule chance that he'd been wrong. He allowed himself a moment or two of worry and then he pushed open the door to the house. The Auror on duty glanced up at him, looking bored as ever.

Blaise stood near the floral display with the massive arms of his borrowed body crossed over his chest. The look of relief on his face was familiar, however. He gave Draco a wide grin and then beckoned him into the small study Draco and Potter had occupied earlier.

Inside, Potter, Pansy, and Auror Klein were stood next to a sofa that contained a distraught-looking Mrs Wells-Barton. Draco hoped he didn't imagine the softening of Potter's expression when he caught sight of Draco, nor the brief smile that curved his lips.

"Persephone! You disappeared with my… Well, they are telling me it wasn't Anton! What happened?"

"No, he definitely wasn't your dear Anton." Draco handed Potter a Charmed Knut. "This will take you to Ralston. He might be difficult to awaken."

Potter gave it to Auror Klein with an official-sounding murmur.

Mrs Wells-Barton looked disappointed. "Are you an Auror, also?"

"That's top secret, I'm afraid. But it was lovely to meet you."

"If you'll come with me, madam, I'll take you to Auror Headquarters where you can await word of your husband. We have sent someone to look for him and you may be able to help with that."

Mrs Wells-Barton gave a tearful gasp that Draco suspected was entirely faked. He could practically see the gears turning and wished her luck, although he doubted that Wells-Barton was deceased. Either he had been in on Rosier's plot from the beginning or he was bound and stuffed into a closet somewhere. Of course, there was always the chance that he wouldn't be found before starving to death or suffocating. She could hope for that, at least.

Auror Klein escorted her out and Draco walked over and pumped Pansy's hand enthusiastically. Giving her a hug in his current state would have been awkward. "Well done, Pansy, my darling. Excellent work, as always. You also, Blaise. Take the rest of the night off. In fact, take the rest of the week. I'll owl if I need you."

Pansy gave him a fond smirk and a kiss on the cheek. "We're all alive, so you were right _again_. I suppose it will go to your head."

"Of course it will." Draco winked at her and she looped her arm through Blaise's. She smirked and said, "Goodbye, Potter. Give us a call if you'd like to give the other side another try."

Draco frowned as she disappeared. Flirting with Potter was simply not on. Potter turned on him the moment the door closed behind Draco's friends. "How did you do it? How did you know? And you couldn't have mentioned it?"

"And spoil the surprise? What's the fun in that? Actually, I had a bit of luck that Ralston could not have foreseen. When I was looking into that Wolfsbane potion during the unpleasantness with Fenrir, I discovered that someone had sold a large quantity of cassava root to one of Rosier's aliases. If there is one thing I've discovered, it's that people are sentimental when it comes to aliases and they are reluctant to part with their favourites."

"The _potion_?" Potter's exasperation was evident.

"Right you are, Potter. On task, as always. Once I learnt that Rosier had acquired concentrated cassava root, I immediately suspected that he was making a Blood Suffocation Potion." He nodded at Potter's horrified expression. "Indeed, it's one of the nastier things in Rosier's arsenal. He utilised in in Brussels during… Well, never mind that. I had Blaise stake out the florist, since Granger had the catering situation well in hand. Those were the two likeliest methods for Rosier to smuggle in enough of the potion to take out the entire party. I was correct, of course."

"The potion was in the vases."

"The potion was in the vases." Draco beamed at Potter. "I simply waited for Lovegood to deliver them, unsuspecting, of course, and then I spelled out all of the nasty potion and replaced it with that ridiculous Sparkler Storm Potion brewed by that Weasley friend of yours. The other Weasley, I mean."

"And what did you do with the Blood Suffocation Potion?"

"The vases are quite clever, actually. They contain a central chamber with a thin membrane separating it from the outer chamber. A simple spell releases the membrane and causes the two substances to blend. Rosier's intention was for the Blood Suffocation Potion to mix with Sulfuric Acid to produce an immediate and deadly gas cloud. The Weasley potion instead mixed with pure water to produce a brilliant shower of sparks. I assume it was fabulous?"

"Fabulous and nearly gave me a bloody heart attack. You could have warned me. Luckily, Ron recognised the effects immediately."

"As I said, I didn't want to spoil the surprise." Draco smiled and then gave a start of surprise as his body shifted and melted back into a more comfortable form. "Lovely! The Polyjuice has worn off. As much as I enjoy being Persephone, I much prefer my natural state. And these shoes no longer fit." Draco kicked off the high heels with a sigh of relief and then had the distinct pleasure of watching Potter re-evaluate him with a slow stare that travelled from his head to his toes.

Potter smirked. "Well, the dress certainly fit better before."

Draco sauntered closer. Potter's eyes widened and he backed away. "Indeed. Would you like to see if the kissing remains commensurate?" Before Potter could negate his suggestion, Draco stepped quickly forwards and pressed his lips to Potter's, curling one hand behind his neck to hold him in place. It was so much better being of a more equitable height and in possession of one's own mouth.

Potter was still for one heartbeat, and then two…allowing Draco to taste him. Draco scarcely dared marvel at not being shoved aside and he followed temptation into bringing his tongue into play, just the slightest touch, and then the push came, followed by a brilliant green glower and dark brows marring a famous scar with a wrinkle.

"Very funny," Potter said, but he sounded breathless to Draco. "What's your excuse this time?"

"No excuse," said Draco. "I just wanted to. Bloody hell, I can't leave now that the Polyjuice has worn off. I would rather not be seen."

Potter pressed the fingers of both hands to his temples and rubbed slowly, as if Draco's mere presence induced a migraine, and then he reached into his knapsack and handed Draco a shimmery length of fabric—the famed invisibility cloak.

"I expect you to go straight to my house and leave this on the sofa in my living room, since you apparently know how to get into my house. Touch nothing in there and take no detours with my cloak. Do you understand?"

Draco suppressed a smile and six sorts of sardonic comments, because he felt rather touched to be trusted with such a sacred item. It was a massive statement, to Draco's thinking, and felt something like a thank you for potentially saving Granger's life.

"You're welcome," Draco said solemnly and took the cloak. He slung it over his shoulders. "Oh, by the way, you seem to have dropped this." Draco pulled out the small bag—now held in place by a flattened bra, and reached in to pull out Potter's wand. "You're welcome again."

With that, Draco flipped the hood over his head, considered and rejected kissing Potter once more, for good measure, and then went out.

~TBC~


	9. Chapter 9

**Part Three**

**17th July, 2004 - Sunday**

Harry sipped his tea and skimmed over the notes from a case file that Kingsley had forwarded to him. Apparently Malfoy had sent him a lead on a serial rapist who used Polyjuice to invade the homes of victims prior to assaulting and robbing them, whereupon he would (poorly) Obliviate them and depart.

It was a nasty business and Harry would be only too happy to put the criminal into Azkaban. Seamus and Kay-Kay had been sent out to dig up the man's potential current location.

Eddie walked in with a barely discernable limp. He wrapped his arms around Harry from behind and leaned down for a kiss. Harry closed the case file, aiming for unobtrusive.

"What are you reading now?" Eddie asked with an audible sigh.

"Just helping out on a case. Would you like eggs?"

Eddie pulled out the chair next to Harry's and sat down. Harry braced himself, recognising Eddie's confrontational expression. "You've been 'helping out' on a lot of cases recently. I thought you had agreed to re-evaluate things."

"I did. And I am. It's just… With this new information coming to light, they really need me right now."

"What about me, Harry? I need you, too."

"I've been home for nearly the whole of two weeks!"

"Yes, but your mind has been elsewhere. You've barely touched me since I've been back."

"You weren't fully healed."

Eddie dropped a hand to Harry's thigh and leaned closer. "I'm healed now." His voice was husky and soft and Harry leaned in and kissed him. To his absolute shame, he kept finding himself thinking about Malfoy whenever he kissed Eddie. Harry wasn't sure what had been so different about Malfoy's kiss; perhaps it was merely that Malfoy's excess of confidence spilled into everything he did, and the kissing had been no exception. In contrast, Eddie was a tentative kisser, barely moving his lips and expecting Harry to take the lead.

Harry pulled away, feeling guilty. He still wasn't sure why Malfoy had even kissed him, other to drive Harry mad. "I'm sorry. You're right. I've been preoccupied."

Eddie shoved the file away. It slid across the table and the upper third overlapped the edge. Harry winced; another inch and it would have tipped off and spilled papers and photos everywhere. "Preoccupied with that! I've tried to be understanding, Harry, but I miss you. Can we go away this weekend, just the two of us? I think it's time that we finally…" Eddie's hand tightened on Harry's thigh and then moved higher. His fingertips brushed over Harry's cock, nails scratching on Harry's jeans. "Cemented our relationship. Don't you think?"

Harry's pulse leapt into the realm of panic. Before Malfoy, he had been so close, so ready to give in and make that final commitment. It was only sex, after all, and most men had no problem getting off whenever possible with anyone available. Harry was the odd one for wanting to wait until he felt…what? Safe and secure? _Loved?_ He nearly snorted aloud at his own foolish sentiment.

He pushed aside his ridiculous misgivings and tried not to think about the photos and clipping still hidden in the book in the other room. "You're right, Eddie. Perhaps we should take a short holiday."

Eddie beamed at him, eyes shining, and Harry felt like a heel for having doubts. "Brilliant! What do you prefer? Beach? Mountains? Romantic hotel and dancing?"

"Um, someplace quiet. Private."

Eddie nodded. "Just leave it to me. You're free this weekend, yes? No _special urgent cases_ that need solving?"

Harry shook his head. The others could handle the rapist case. The perpetrator was dangerous, but not exceptionally skilled with a wand, if his Memory Charms were anything to go by. "I'll be exclusively yours."

Eddie kissed him again and Harry relaxed into some light snogging, firmly pushing Malfoy out of his mind. They were still kissing when an owl tapped on the window.

oOo

The gates swung open as Harry approached and he marvelled at the intricacy of the wrought iron. They had been shaped into two magnificent mermaids that made swimming movements as the gates opened. He stepped through onto a walkway of crushed white stone.

Overhanging trees partially sheltered him from the rain and his Umbrella Charm took care of the rest. The estate looked like old money and opulent elegance, an opinion made stronger when the house came into view around a bend. Roman columns lined the white portico and highlighted gleaming windows and the collection of bright roses that lined the upsweeping marble steps.

A black metal door knocker was fashioned in the shape of another mermaid, and she wriggled as Harry gripped her tail and knocked. The sound reverberated through the house, audible from where he stood.

The door swung open and a diminutive woman beamed at him through dark eyes. "Welcome, Mr Harry. Mr Draco is swimming in the pool. Come, I will take you there." She had an accent, Spanish, possibly.

The door closed and Harry blinked up at the enormous chandelier overhead. It sparkled and fluttered, made entirely of white and silver fairies that clung to delicate fronds of silver. Several of them noticed his attention and waved.

"Is this your house?" Harry asked.

The woman laughed. "Oh no! My house is not so fine as this. Do you swim?"

"Not very well, I'm afraid."

"Do not fear. I am sure that Mr Draco will teach you." She laughed again and gave him a sidelong stare before quickening her pace and leading him deeper into the house. It was so enormous that Harry feared he might not find his way out again. Expecting to end up outside, he stopped short when they reached a gigantic room that contained a pristine pool. The outer wall was a solid bank of windows that looked out onto a grassy sward and a hedge garden.

A splash drew his eye and he watched as Malfoy climbed from the pool, dripping wet and wearing next to nothing. He snatched up a fleece from a nearby chair and rubbed at his blond hair as he neared. "Welcome, Harry. Would you care for a swim? It's invigorating!"

"Um, no, actually. You look invigorated enough for the both of us."

"That I am. Consuelo, please bring some tea. And some of your delightful _pinchos_. Wait until you taste these, Harry. Consuelo is a veritable goddess in the kitchen."

"You stop, Mr Draco, or you will give me the big ego. But I will bring for you and Mr Harry." Consuelo padded away and Harry tried not to follow the droplets as they trickled down over Malfoy's torso until they reached the waistband of his swimsuit, which was, incongruously, bright red with black zebra stripes.

"Not only is Consuelo a superior cook, but she is also a master forger. You would never guess it to look at her, would you? Give her thirty minutes and she'll write your signature better than you, I guarantee it."

Harry was torn between not asking about the swim trunks and not asking about the forgery thing, and he fished wildly for something else to talk about. "Whose house is this?" he forced out desperately and turned his attention back to the view outside the windows rather than look at Malfoy's expanse of pale skin for one more moment.

"An old family by the name of Beauvoir. You've probably never heard of them as they are all reclusive to a fault and they don't dabble in politics of any sort. They travel frequently for months on end. In fact, they wisely missed all of that unpleasantness with You-Know-Who by locking down this fine estate and fleeing to eastern France for the duration."

"So you're house-sitting? And they are okay with that?"

"Honestly, Harry, you act as though I plan to steal their silver. I am not a petty criminal."

Harry snorted at that and glanced back at Malfoy, only to find all capability to make words deserting him as Malfoy stripped off the wet trunks and bent down to pick up what looked like a pair of black pants. His arse and long legs were in full view, as was a hint of his testicles. The oxygen seized up in Harry's lungs.

"Your suspicions are partially correct, however," Malfoy continued, obviously unaware of Harry's transfixed stare. "The Beauvoir's do not know that I am currently residing in their lovely manor. I felt it was a waste to let such opulence sit idle. A structure of this sort deserves to be appreciated and utilised to its fullest. Don't you agree?"

Harry spun away before Malfoy could follow the question with his patented eyebrow lift, because he could barely register that Malfoy had spoken. _Merlin_. Harry ached with want. How long had it been? Obviously far too long if the mere sight of a naked man could give him heart palpitations.

"Harry?"

Harry risked a quick peek over his shoulder and discovered that Malfoy had at least covered his (utterly perfect) arse with black pants. He cast his mind back over the conversation and finally registered what Malfoy had said. "They don't know you're here. That's brilliant. Breaking and entering. Unlawful use of…facilities, and probably other things. Are those swim trunks even yours?"

"Of course not. Eliot Beauvoir seems to be of similar build, although he has a face like a vulture. And terrible taste in clothing, I might add." He lifted the wet swimsuit and tapped it with his wand to force it dry. Another tap of his wrist folded the garment and sent it winging over to drop onto a nearby bench. "Come, let us have tea in the gazebo. The Beauvoir's have installed automated Heating Charms. Very nicely done. And the path is enchanted to dispel rain."

Malfoy donned more clothing, thankfully, although Harry admired him in the stylish chocolate robes nearly as much as he had in Malfoy's unclothed state. Nearly. He dried his hair with a charm as he strode towards the French doors and pushed them open.

"I'm certain you didn't summon me here merely to have tea."

"Why not? I hate to eat alone. It's so depressing. But if it offends your sensibilities to meet with me without an ulterior motive, we can discuss one of your silly cases."

"Hardly silly," Harry replied as he followed Malfoy down the path. It seemed odd to walk on a perfectly dry walkway when the rain fell all around them.

"And yet not important enough to drag you away from darling Eddie's side." Malfoy breezed up the wooden steps and into the octagonal wooden structure. It was lined with cushioned benches and lit with more fairy lights; multi-coloured this time.

"Actually, I would like to know what you suspect about Eddie. You keep insisting that I can't trust him and yet you haven't given me a single reason why I shouldn't." Harry tugged at his hair and sat down on a bench. Malfoy sat next to him, not quite touching.

"And yet you've found something on your own. Haven't you?"

Harry shot him a sidelong glance and then nodded. "I found some photos. Clippings. Things that weren't keepsakes or mementos. It seemed more like surveillance. But why would Eddie stalk me? We live together! And he sells Quidditch supplies. He's not dangerous."

"He lives with you _now_. Were those photos taken recently?"

"No. Most of them were several years old."

"Carmichael does, indeed, sell Quidditch supplies. But I believe he is working for someone else."

"Working for whom? And to what purpose? To spy on me? I'm not that interesting."

Malfoy put a hand on Harry's knee and squeezed. "_Au contraire, mon cher_. But to answer your questions, I don't know. I haven't been able to discover anything myself, and not for lack of trying. My instincts tell me not to trust him and they are seldom wrong these days. I have learned to rely on them." He removed his hand and Harry missed its pressure.

"Wait, you're warning me about Eddie to _protect_ me? That doesn't make sense. I thought you hated me."

"Oh, come now. Hate is a simple thing when one is a child. I hated the attention you stole from me. I hated that everyone loved you and thought you were perfect. I hated that you were allowed to play Quidditch before me. Such trivial things that seemed all-encompassing as a child. And then I grew up and learned the true meaning of hatred. The things I felt for you became as nothing next to what burned in me when I witnessed horrors beyond imagining. The Dark Lord lived in my house, Harry. I would have given my family fortune to have you there instead. My mortal enemy." Malfoy sighed. "I was a bloody fool. But let us not talk of such maudlin subjects. Those days are long past and it doesn't do to dwell on the idiocy of our youth. That way lies madness. We only have today and, if we are lucky, a few tomorrows yet to come."

Consuelo pattered up the steps before Harry could reply and served them tea and tiny bits of bread with multiple toppings, held together with small skewers.

"Delicious, thank you."

"_Gracias_, Consuelo. How is that document coming along?"

"It is good, Mr Draco. You know I will be done with it in time to make your dinner."

"You are so efficient. An absolute peach. Don't you just adore her?" Malfoy beamed at her and she blushed and waved her hands at him.

"You stop that! I do not need to flutter like a school girl, so you save your handsome flattery for the pretty boys. It was nice to finally meet you, Mr Harry, in case I do not see you as I go back to work for this golden-tongued slave driver."

"It was lovely to meet you!" Harry called to her retreating form and then looked owlishly at Draco. "What document?"

Malfoy sipped his tea and then gave Harry an innocent-looking smile. "Don't you worry your pretty head, Harry, it's nothing you need concern yourself with."

"I hate when you do that."

"When I drink tea, or when I smirk at you?"

"When you pretend that your blatantly illegal activities are inconsequential."

Malfoy's chest puffed out. "Blatantly? Nothing I do is blatant, I will have you know." Harry threw him an unamused look and Malfoy winked at him. "They really are inconsequential. In the grand scheme of things."

Harry heaved a put-upon sigh and looked out at the rain, trying not to smile. Malfoy was not adorable in the slightest. Malfoy stretched his legs out and crossed his arms behind his head with an air of nonchalance. _Except_, Harry admitted_, that he really is_.

Unwilling to think on it anymore, Harry decided he'd better get back and start planning his weekend with Eddie. Perhaps he could come up with a way to broach the subject of the photos. Maybe Eddie would have a perfectly rational explanation.

Before Harry could formulate a proper goodbye, a silvery shape shot into the gazebo and trotted around, tail wagging. Ron's Patronus. It sat down before Harry and lifted its front paws as if begging for treats.

"Hey, Harry, do you know where to find Malfoy? Kingsley needs him." Message delivered, the dog vanished.

Harry lifted a brow at Malfoy, who shrugged. Harry cast his own Patronus and sent the stag sailing back to Ron with the address to the Beauvoir mansion. Within minutes, Ron was trotting up the path with Seamus in tow.

"This place is brilliant!" Ron spoke through a mouthful of something and he lifted a hand to his mouth to stuff in another bite. His next words were nearly unintelligible. "These are really good."

"I see you've met Consuelo."

"She opened the door." Seamus grinned. "I thought it best not to accept random food from strangers, but Ron, here…"

Harry nodded. Ron's stomach was his biggest weakness.

"What does Shacklebolt want this time? Could he not have simply demanded my presence in his office, as he usually does?"

"He's not at the Ministry. I can Side-along you."

Something in Ron's tone made Harry sit up, suddenly wary. He glanced at Seamus, who seemed to be admiring the coloured fairy lights with intensity.

"Well, now, that sounds mysterious. Where is his holiness? He can't be at home either, since that is a matter of public record."

Instead of replying, Ron sent an apologetic look at Harry, took a step towards Malfoy, and then gripped his arm. Before Harry could react, they were both gone.

Harry gave Seamus a hard stare. "What's going on?"

"We took Malfoy to a safe house. Got a message this morning that someone is coming for him. Kingsley took it serious."

"Which safe house? And who is after him?"

"Kingsley said it was 'need to know' only. Sorry, Harry." With that, Seamus Disapparated.

Harry spent a few minutes stomping around the gazebo and throwing random, ineffectual hexes, and then he went to find Hermione. Eventually, Ron would make it home, and then he would have answers.

oooOooo

Draco tore his arm out of Weasley's grip with an oath and then jammed the tip of his wand into Weasley's throat.

"You'd better have a damned good explanation for that," Draco growled. He took in the room with his peripheral vision; there wasn't much to see. They seemed to be in a small stone room with a single, thick wooden door.

"Hang on!" Weasley yelped.

The door opened before Draco could decide whether to disappear or hex Weasley. Shacklebolt lifted a hand.

"Hold on, Malfoy. Don't do anything stupid. You're here for your own protection."

"My own protection? And where is here?"

"A safe house known to only a few of my most trusted staff. We got a message this morning that you were in danger, so I had Weasley and Finnigan bring you in."

"You couldn't have asked?" Draco lowered the wand, but he remained close to Weasley, in case the need for a hostage arose. Draco didn't trust either of them. There were only three people in the world that he trusted, and one of them had stared at him through wide green eyes as he'd disappeared. At least Draco was certain that Harry wasn't in on this newest twist, although he wasn't certain that was a good thing.

"You have a bad habit of wasting time and circumventing my decisions. I decided to avoid that, for once. Here you are and here you shall remain." With that, Shacklebolt spoke a few words and Draco recognised Anti-Disapparition wards sliding into place. He swore inwardly. Apparently he was now trapped.

"Thank you for your concern," Draco said in a tone laced with sarcasm. "Who is this terribly dangerous person from whom I need saving?"

"Virgil Crabbe."

Despite his outward nonchalance, Draco's stomach clenched. Bloody hell, he _had_ been preoccupied lately, not to have picked up on that threat. He'd spent years keeping out of Crabbe's clutches, and paying him off whenever possible. Vince's father was a very dangerous man, and he blamed Draco wholeheartedly for the death of his son.

"I suddenly doubt the safety of this safe house."

"As I told you, only a handful of people know of its existence. We call it The Lockbox. Come along and I will show you the defences. This place is formidable and even should Crabbe learn of the location, he will never make it inside. We're looking for him now, and hope to locate him before—"

"Before he gets to one of your 'trusted' people and carves them open for information?" Another spike of anxiety pierced Draco's midsection. "Does Potter know about this?"

"I thought it best to involve as few people as possible. Harry has been lukewarm about returning to the Auror division. I don't believe he is fully committed, despite your insistence that he should be."

Draco glared at him. "You're going to let your best Auror go, just like that?" He snapped his fingers. Weasley made a huffing sound and Draco turned on him. "Do you really plan to deny that, Weasley? Are you trying to tell me you could have taken out the Dark Lord without him?"

Weasley flushed. "Of course not. But you weren't exactly best mates in school. I can't figure why you're so keen on flying his banners now."

Draco straightened and forced himself to don an emotionless mask. Obviously he was getting too close to Harry for comfort, if even Weasley was questioning his motives. "One does not need to organise a support group to acknowledge ability. If you wish to keep me safe, I would feel better with Potter here."

"Harry has been through enough. I think we'll leave him out of this one. He deserves a break." Shacklebolt's tone brooked no argument and he turned and pushed open the door. "Now, would you like to examine the defences or do you prefer to be shown to your quarters?"

Draco suspected his quarters would resemble a prison cell, and he had limited confidence in the Ministry's ability to keep out someone of Crabbe's disposition. "The defences, if you don't mind."

The tour was brief and left Draco feeling less than reassured, despite Shacklebolt's confident descriptions. The safe house was actually a castle, abandoned by the Muggles and left to fall into ruin, later to be claimed and transformed by the Ministry for clandestine use. Although it sat on the very edge of a Muggle town, several charms made it appear as nothing more than a tumble-down ruin. Such a thing would normally entice curious Muggles into exploration, but Muggle-Repellent charms could be powerful when reinforced regularly. Draco imagined there were still a few cases of Muggles wandering in, likely dealt with by careful use of Obliviation and planting of judicious photos into Muggle cameras, giving them the belief they had visited the ruins.

In actuality, the outer and inner walls stood tall, laced with enough wards to rival Hogwarts. Some of the hexes were nasty enough to impress even Draco, but he knew Crabbe by more than reputation.

The inside of the castle proper was practically barren, but for rudimentary furnishings surrounding observation portals. It wasn't meant for habitation, and Draco hoped they didn't plan on keeping him for an extended stay. It seemed barely more liveable than Azkaban.

"The living quarters are, of course, underground," Shacklebolt said with a smug grin and led Draco to a huge central pillar that slid upwards to reveal a lift platform. Draco joined Shacklebolt and Weasley as the concealing pillar descended and took them down into the earth beneath the castle. Judging by the time it took, Draco assumed it was at least as deep as Level Ten at the Ministry.

The lift opened onto a far different décor than the one they'd left. Opulent carpets covered the floor of an octagonal room. Several archways led outwards, probably turning into a warren of mazelike passages. Shacklebolt led Draco through a left-hand archway. The walkway was lit with wall sconces and covered in tapestries, but the air was cold. They passed several doors and then descended a curving staircase to halt before an iron-barred gate. It opened with a spell and Draco tried not to feel anxious as it ground closed behind them. The place was beginning to feel less like an oasis of protection and more like a prison with every step.

The feeling was reinforced when they reached a blank stone wall. Shacklebolt and Weasley cast together and the stone began to move aside with a great scraping sound that caused Draco to clench his teeth against the urge to cover his ears.

The stone door opened onto a large circular chamber with a raised dais in the centre. A cosy looking chair sat atop the dais, along with a small wooden table and a delicate reading lamp. Several colourful pillows decorated the chair. Lining the outer walls of the chamber were rows of stone benches. The stone floor had been etched with a runic design that encircled the dais. It looked decorative, but Draco wagered it was anything but.

"What is this place?" Draco asked, thinking it vaguely resembled the courtroom where the Wizengamot convened.

"A combination safe cell and interrogation chamber. Depending upon which is needed. Once the wards are activated, no one can get in or out."

"Better to be out than in, then."

"Generally, yes, but you need not concern yourself with that. This chamber is only a pass-through. The living quarters are through that door." Shacklebolt gestured to a normal-looking door on the other side of the room, and then strolled that way. Draco glanced at the chair on the dais as they passed; he wondered if anyone had ever starved to death inside the "interrogation chamber" and decided that Shacklebolt wouldn't tell him, regardless of the answer.

Several more doors branched off from the corridor beyond the circular chamber, and Draco was shown through the last door at the end. It opened onto a decently furnished room, far nicer than he had expected, and yet stark enough to leave him missing the opulence of the bedchambers in the Beauvoir mansion he'd left behind.

"How long do you plan to keep me here?"

"Until we catch Crabbe."

"That could be quite some time." _Decades, even_, although Draco kept the latter to himself.

"We've set out some false leads for him to follow. He will snap at one, and then we will have him." Shacklebolt's confident tone was beginning to grate on Draco's nerves. Rather than prolong the torment of speaking to him any longer, Draco entered the room and spun in a slow circle.

"I should like some of my personal effects."

"Auror Weasley will fetch them for you."

"And Blaise and Pansy. Despite your assurances, I feel safer with them close to hand."

Shacklebolt paused and then nodded. "I will consider it."

That did not sound promising, but Draco let it slide. He didn't have many options. "May I at least send a message?"

"Of course. There is pen and paper there. Auror Weasley, if you don't mind waiting for Mr Malfoy's message, you can drop it at an appropriate owl post office on the way back. I want to check on a few more security options before we go. Malfoy, there are Aurors on staff, should you need anything. I would prefer you not roam about the building, if you don't mind."

"Stay in my cell," Draco said dryly. "Got it."

"Also, if you don't mind handing over your wand?" Shacklebolt held out an expectant hand.

Draco's lips narrowed. "Then I am a prisoner."

"You are in protective custody. I would like to assure that you remain here."

Draco wanted to gnash his teeth. He wondered how successful he would be if he fought the order. Looking into Shacklebolt's determined placidity, he doubted success was an option. "If Crabbe finds this place I'll be a sitting duck."

"There are few people that even know of the existence of this particular safe house and they are amongst my most trusted staff. The odds are astronomical. In the meantime, we will work on ferreting out Crabbe and taking the fight to him."

"Good luck with that," Draco said dryly and slapped his wand into the Minister's hand.

Shacklebolt gave him a short bow that was probably meant to be sardonic, and then went out. Weasley gave Draco a glance and then looked away.

"You realise that Harry could be in danger?" Draco's tone was matter-of-fact.

"From Crabbe?"

"Of course. Rosier used him once to get to me. Do you think Rosier is the only one capable of making the connection between Potter and me?"

Weasley gnawed his lower lip. "I can't go against Kingsley's orders."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm merely suggesting that you warn Harry. Crabbe is not one to take lightly. If I had my way I would leave right now to set up some defences and get as far away as possible. I know what Crabbe is capable of. He makes Rosier look like an angry toddler."

"Just write your message. I'll need to tell Harry something, anyway. Don't think he'll be too happy about us leaving him back at that place."

"Good. I just need to pen a quick message to Pansy in the event that Shacklebolt refuses to let them join me. Potter is a potential connection to me; Blaise and Pansy are a sure thing. I don't want them harmed."

"That makes sense. I'll try to persuade Kingsley to bring them in."

Draco penned a quick note, filling the page with cryptic symbols and hidden messages, all couched in the bland tones of a missive asking about the status of a fictitious business deal. Weasley took it and skimmed it dubiously.

"You want me to send this? To Parkinson?"

"I do not expect to put my entire life on hold, Weasley, for an indefinite period of time. I have business that requires attention."

Weasley shrugged and tucked the message into a pocket. It wasn't much, but it was the best Draco could do on short notice. He had little doubt the Ministry would comb it for hidden meaning, although they had been fairly inept at deciphering Draco's codes thus far. With luck, they would forward it to Pansy and then watch her closely. If it had the added benefit of providing her with Auror protection, then so much the better.

Weasley went out and Draco sat down at the desk to wait. He wished he was back at the Beauvois mansion with Harry. Before Weasley's arrival, Draco had been sorely tempted to kiss him again.

~TBC~


	10. Chapter 10

Harry made small talk with Hermione while he waited for Ron to turn up. It wasn't long before she gave him a sigh and a headshake. "Out with it. What's bothering you?"

He frowned at her perception, although he should have expected it. "They took Malfoy somewhere and I don't know where or why. Ron and Seamus disappeared before I could ask, although Ron has to know I'll not be satisfied with being put off." He repeated Seamus' words to her and then made a petulant face. "He said it was 'need to know' and why would I not need to know, for Merlin's sake? I'm the only one Malfoy trusts. It's why he dragged me back to the Ministry in the first place."

"I thought you were done with the Aurors. It certainly seemed like you were happier, before Malfoy turned up."

"I thought I was. But now… I don't know." Harry was tired of thinking about his life. He hadn't been able to shut off his brain where Eddie was concerned, half-ready to blurt out questions whenever they were together, and demanding to know whether Eddie had had ulterior motives prior to their first date. And then there was Malfoy. Malfoy and his naked bum and his ready humour, and his kisses, and Harry's growing attraction.

"Tell me."

Harry shook his head. "It could be Malfoy playing me for a fool. I never know what he's doing from one minute to the next and everything he does is calculated. His life is like a chessboard and he seems to have everything planned five moves in advance of everyone else. Although I don't think he saw this one coming. He was just as surprised as I was when Ron took him away. He was in the middle of…" In the middle of some illegal forgery operation, as far as Harry could tell. He considered going back to the Beauvois mansion and questioning Consuelo, but he doubted she would have any information beyond what Malfoy had told her, and even that might be difficult to extract. Malfoy tended to inspire loyalty in his followers.

Harry remembered Agatha happily diluting potions for Malfoy and his gentle words. _I do what I can_. Damn it, Harry wasn't supposed to admire him, on top of everything else.

"I should be involved, though. If he's in danger. Seamus said someone is after him. I need to know who it is. Last time someone was after Malfoy, Eddie ended up in St Mungo's."

"And how is Eddie?"

"Improving." Harry paused and then blurted, "How do you feel about Eddie? Do you think he's good for me? Do you sense anything… off about him? Or anything?" He didn't really know how to put it into words.

"What do you mean? He seems fine. Are you two having issues?" Hermione frowned and waited, but Harry couldn't put his suspicion into words, especially when he had no proof other than a handful of photos and some newspaper clippings. "I mean, we thought you were moving a bit fast when you moved in with him, but since you seemed happy enough, I supposed it was fine. I've never sensed anything _off_ about him, certainly. I'm not sure what you're asking."

Harry gave her a wan smile. He and Eddie hadn't moved quickly _at all_, although she didn't know that. They hadn't even had sex, even though that was supposed to change during their upcoming weekend away. "No, we're not having problems. Just the opposite, actually." He shook his head. "I'm just being stupid. And it has nothing to with this problem. I want to know where they took Malfoy and I want to know why. I plan to stay here until I shake it out of Ron."

She grinned. "Well, then. I suppose I'll make us some tea, since you'll apparently be here for a while. I think we have some chocolate biscuits that Ron hasn't located yet." He followed her to the kitchen and helped her ransack the pantry while they waited.

oOo

Blaise Zabini turned up before Ron, banging on Hermione's door and striding through in a manner disturbingly reminiscent of Malfoy. Harry wondered if it was an affectation learned by proximity to Malfoy or if it was an inherent quality gained by being in Slytherin house. As annoying as Snape had been during Harry's boyhood, he had to admit the man had possessed an undeniable presence.

"Granger, apparently your husband has whisked Draco away to some mysterious safe place and he strongly suggests that Pansy and I hide out for the duration. And by that, of course, he means that we should locate him as quickly as possible because the incompetence of the Ministry knows no bounds, and he would be safer walking the streets of Diagon Alley in our company than locked up in some hideaway. I'm hoping you can help us locate him before Crabbe does. He is not to be taken lightly."

"Crabbe? Vince's father?"

"Unless there is another Crabbe that has become an international menace to society and loathes Draco with a deep and abiding passion?"

"Why would he be after Draco now? He's had years to attempt revenge."

"I don't pretend to know the minds of madmen, Potter. Your bosses have decided that Crabbe is seeking Draco and it's our job to protect him at any cost. We can't do that unless we know where he is, and he doesn't know, so he can't tell us."

"Yeah, well I don't know where he is either. How did you know I was here?"

Blaise flashed a bright smile. "Draco might not know where he is, but he always knows where you are."

Hermione tsked and muttered something about Harry being so predictable it was a wonder he wasn't dead already. "I heard that," Harry said with a sharp stare.

"Well, I suppose I'll make more tea."

In the end, after four pots of tea and a distinctly growing awkwardness to the conversation, Ron sent a message stating that he wouldn't be home that night. Harry read the note, balled it up, stamped on it, and then kicked it into the fire.

Hermione was much calmer. "Goodnight, Harry. I'll send you a message if he comes home." She yawned and waved him towards the Floo. With no reason to stay, Harry bid her goodnight and reached for the Floo Powder. He realised that Zabini was crowded close behind him.

"Where are you going?"

"With you, Potter. Where you go, I go."

"But I'm going—" He nearly said "to Eddie's house" but caught himself in time. "Home."

"I assume you have a sofa and I have Silencing Charms. You can loudly shag to your heart's content and I shall sleep like a babe, unless someone trips the wards and then I shall come awake and try not to hex your boyfriend in the crossfire."

"You're definitely not coming home with me."

"Harry. Please argue elsewhere. I'm exhausted and I have a thousand things to do tomorrow." Hermione yawned again and tapped her foot impatiently.

"You won't be able to get in, anyway. The Floo is closed to all but a few people and the wards won't let you in."

"Oh, I'll get in, Potter. You won't like it and it will take me a while, but I will get in." Zabini had a wild light in his eyes and Harry could picture him standing outside the door casting spell after spell and hammering away at the wards, preventing sleep in the best case, and waking everyone in a two kilometre radius at worst.

"Bloody hell, I have a bone to pick with Malfoy over this. Wait here and I'll tune the wards to let you through. Goodnight, Hermione."

Zabini looked so smug that for a moment he strongly resembled his boss at his most annoying. Harry clenched his teeth and stepped through the fireplace.

oOo

Eddie was not understanding.

Harry frantically tried to come up with a plausible excuse for Zabini's presence whilst Eddie glared daggers at them both.

"It's a long story," Harry said lamely. "Blaise just needs a place to crash for the night."

"He's never heard of a hotel?"

"It involves a case." That was obliquely true, Harry rationalised and then he winced because that word would definitely not cause Eddie's rage level to decrease.

"Of course it does."

"Where is your little boy's room, Potter?"

Harry gestured Zabini down the hall with a wave. "First door on the right." As Zabini headed that direction, Harry turned and went into the kitchen. Eddie was right behind him. Harry braced himself for the explosion. "It's just for tonight. He'll sleep on the sofa and I'll get rid of him tomorrow. I'm too tired to argue about this now."

"Are we still going away this weekend or are you planning to cancel because of this _case_?"

Harry turned and took both of Eddie's hands. "Of course I'm not going to cancel. I'm looking forward to it. Have you chosen a place?"

Eddie resisted Harry's grip for a moment, and then he relaxed. "Yes. I've made all the arrangements, but it's a surprise. I'm not telling you where."

Harry smiled and pushed away a twinge of misgiving. He made a mental note to ransack the flat and see if he could locate evidence of Eddie's plans. It was one thing to be surprised and it was another to be blindsided. He wanted to trust Eddie, but Malfoy's warnings, coupled with the dossier photos, kept prodding him to caution. He would prefer to be safe than sorry.

"Do I get twenty questions?" he asked teasingly. "Is it near water?"

Eddie pursed his lips and leaned in for a kiss. "Hmmm. I suppose, although I reserve the right not to answer if you get too close. And yes, it is near water."

Harry kissed him back, and then stepped away when Zabini appeared in the doorway.

"Would you like some tea?" Eddie asked Zabini as his hands slipped out of Harry's grasp. His tone was polite and no longer antagonistic.

"No. Thank you."

"I'll get you some blankets," Harry said and escaped the kitchen to locate some linens. That had gone easier than expected. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Eddie later retired to his bedroom and Harry watched as Zabini transfigured a couple of sofa pillows into soft, feathery bundles that looked far nicer than those adorning Harry's bed. "Potter," Zabini said in a low tone as he leaned close. "There is one thing that Draco managed to slip into the note he sent to us. I haven't had a chance to tell you, alone, until now. I was hoping Weasley would turn up with real information. Draco managed to conceal one word. It said 'ruins'."

"Ruins." Harry sat back and sent his thoughts winging through his mental list of known safe houses. How many of them were disguised as ruins, or isolated in ruins? Several, he realised.

"I'll make a list and we can start checking them out in the morning."

"Brilliant."

"Goodnight, Zabini."

"Goodnight, Potter. Happy shagging."

Harry gave him an absent sneer and didn't bother to correct his assumption as he went to his own room. He was already thinking about safe houses.

**18th July, 2005 - Monday **

Harry tried to be as quiet as possible as he made tea. Zabini appeared in the doorway before he finished adding water to the teapot; he looked too-alert to be real, considering the time.

"I thought we'd get an early start," he said quietly and handed Zabini a mug. Zabini nodded. A look passed between them and it was obvious they both wanted to escape the flat before Eddie awakened. Harry had considered taking Zabini to Grimmauld Place—it would have made things easier—but in the end he'd decided that Eddie would have been more upset at being "abandoned".

Before he left, Harry detoured to his bedroom and picked up the small figure of Mercury Horowitz from his bedside table. It wouldn't hurt to have a lucky charm. Just in case. He tucked the Quidditch figure into his pocket and felt her squirm for a bit before she found a comfortable position.

He and Blaise took the Floo to a café just off Diagon Alley. There they drank more tea and ate a quick breakfast before stepping out onto the cobbled street.

"We'll start with the safe houses nearest to London and range out from there." Harry suspected they would recognise the location when they found it by the strength of the wards. It would be obvious the moment they tried to get inside.

There weren't many safe houses built around ruins in and around London proper, so Harry was forced to take them farther and farther out. He had to Side-along Zabini and after the fifth Apparition he debated leaving him behind. Only the hard, determined glint in Zabini's dark eyes kept him from suggesting it. Whatever Harry might say about Malfoy, he certainly had inspired loyalty in his former school chums. Zabini seemed willing to do whatever it took to find Malfoy.

It was late afternoon before they found the place. They had only stopped searching for a short lunch break, and Harry was worn ragged from the constant strain of Apparition. It was with immense relief that he beheld the sight of the ancient, crumbling castle.

"This is it," he said and nearly kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. The Lockbox. As safe houses went, it was one of the securest. The place was built like a bloody fortress with a warren of underground passages and solid, stone-walled rooms.

"How do you know?" Zabini asked. He looked as tired as Harry felt.

As soon as the words registered, Harry gripped his wand tighter as a chill realisation swept over him. "Because the wards are down. Something is wrong." He started forwards, but Zabini's hand clamped onto his arm, halting him.

"Call Pansy. I want her here."

Harry nodded and cast a Patronus. Time seemed to tick away endlessly as they waited for Parkinson to arrive, even though Harry used it to get closer and try to determine what had happened. He quelled the urge to rush inside, knowing that caution was the wisest option. The fact that the wards were completely down was alarming; every safe house in Britain maintained at least rudimentary wards to keep wandering wizards from moving in and establishing squatter's rights, or simply stealing anything not nailed down.

Parkinson finally appeared, looking surprisingly practical in sturdy-looking robes and low-heeled boots. The black embroidery on the midnight blue robes gave evidence of the quality and cost, but at least she wasn't dressed like a flash shop clerk.

"What's the plan, Potter? Do you think Draco is in there?"

"I don't know. It doesn't look good, so stay alert and be ready for anything. If Crabbe is inside, we can only hope he hasn't breached the centre. It's possible Kingsley and the others have already moved him, in which case we'll need to hurry and try to determine where they went."

Parkinson only nodded and pulled her hood over her black hair. Zabini flashed him a tight, humourless grin. Harry readied himself, lifted his wand, and started into the ruins.

oooOooo

Draco was midway through a game of chess with Weasley when the alarm sounded.

"Ha!" Weasley crowed. "Got your bishop. You're going down, Malfoy."

Before Draco could drawl a retort—Weasley was a bloody fine chess player, although his technique was unsurprisingly Gryffindorish, straightforward and without much finesse—a sharp flash of light pulsed through the room, followed by a Patronus that sent Weasley scrambling out the door with a barked, "Stay here!"

Draco, of course, had no intention of staying, especially if Crabbe was coming for him. He felt like a rat in a cage trapped in the bloody Ministry "safe house" when he knew he'd be safer with the ability to put thousands of kilometres between himself and Crabbe, at least until whatever had driven him to seek out Draco had been determined. Not for the first time, Draco cursed himself for allowing them to lure him into such a simple trap.

An explosion sounded from somewhere above and Draco swore roundly. He needed to find a wand and get the hell out of here. "'_Most trusted staff_,'" he mocked venomously. "'_The odds are astronomical.'_"

He passed through the large chamber with the interrogation circle at a dead run. He could hear Weasley shouting at someone and caught the word "Shacklebolt."

"I don't know!"

Draco entered the passage to see Weasley and an Auror Draco that didn't know. They both looked frantic.

"They won't get through the barrier," the other Auror said, but it sounded more like a question.

"Let's fucking hope not. Malfoy, I told you to stay put."

"Stay in my cell and wait for Crabbe to come for me? No, thank you. We need to get out of here. What's the fastest way out?"

Weasley gave him a headshake and the other Auror looked indecisive. Another thump sounded overhead and dust trickled down, salted with pebbles and insect carcasses. Draco swiped a hand over his hair, a half-hearted attempt to ward off any falling spiders. Weasley batted wildly at his ginger hair, eyes casting upwards. "We need to stay here. This is the safest place."

"Can you not bloody hear what's going on up there? Now where is the back way out?"

"There is no back way!" Weasley's voice was strident. He smacked at his hair again and shuddered, seeming more concerned about falling arachnids than the certain death coming for them.

"What kind of ridiculous safe house doesn't have an escape route?"

"I don't know! Maybe it does! No one told me!"

Draco glared at him and at the sheer idiocy that had prevented Shacklebolt from letting the Head Auror in on the floorplan. Weasley's hot stare fought back.

"We thought we had time."

"As you can hear, we don't have time, so I suggest you utilise what tiny bits of brain tissue you carry around in that cranium of yours to find us a way out this death trap."

The other Auror looked nervous, gaze tracking from Draco to Weasley. "They can't get in, can they, Ron?"

Weasley made a scoffing sound. "Of course they can't—" His words were cut off by a thunderous BOOM and Draco dove to the ground. He heard a muffled scream through the clatter of rocks and the sliding of stones on the ground. Draco's ears were ringing and his vision blurred as he picked himself up. A thick fog of dust made breathing difficult and he gasped for air, coughing painfully with each exhalation. He heard a groan, followed by a spasm of coughing and pushed his way towards it. His right arm ached and a trickle of something dribbled down his cheek. Probably blood.

Draco reached Weasley, who lay half-buried by stones. Draco gripped him by the lapels and hauled him partially upright. "Weasley," he growled, "are you alive?"

"No." Weasley's voice was a weak rasp. Draco scanned for Weasley's wand and located it a short distance away, jutting from a tangle of stones and a splintered wooden beam. Voices sounded from beyond the coalescing dust, and footsteps. Draco snatched up Weasley's wand and looked around for the other Auror.

"We have to move. Shake it off and get up."

"Can't. My leg is buried. Where is Wilson?"

The dust was beginning to settle and Draco saw that Weasley was right; his legs were caught in rubble. With a snarl, Draco set about Levitating the stones aside, moving as quickly as possible. Weasley's wand did not seem to like him; the magic was sluggish and pitiful. A particularly large rock rolled away instead of floating and Weasley screamed before his head lolled back; he looked unconscious, or dead.

The voices were getting louder and Draco felt a spike of panic. He needed Weasley to figure locate a way out. Chances were good he'd been lying before about another exit, thinking they were safe behind the huge stone door and desperate to keep Draco inside.

"Don't die yet, Weasley." Draco reached down and grabbed him by the collar to haul him bodily out of the debris. As he did no, he nearly tripped over something squashy and glanced down to see a forearm. His gaze tracked over elbow joint and shoulder to recoil at the sight of the other Auror—Wilson—whose head had been staved in by a large boulder. Nothing beyond his ruined head and one arm were visible.

A shout tore Draco's attention from the dead Auror and he cast a _Protego_ just in time to deflect a red bolt.

"Take them alive!" someone yelled.

Draco cast, not bothering to hold back. The _Avada Kedavra_ sent his attacker falling into the rocks. At the same time, he heaved, pulling Weasley along and cursing the man's predilection for food. Weasley could stand to lose a couple of stone, for certain.

Draco cast a Levitation Charm to speed the process, and then sent several more deadly green bolts down the corridor to give their pursuers pause. The first one through would be the first to fall; it was obvious none of them were willing to take that chance.

"_Get in there!"_

Draco thought he recognised Crabbe's voice. It was hard to tell by the volume. He moved faster, pulling Weasley along at a fast trot, not stopping until they reached the chamber with the rune-circled dais. Draco dragged him across the runic line and then let go. An uneven trail of blood gave evidence of their path; Weasley had a spear of wood jutting through his upper thigh.

"Weasley, wake up. _Ennervate!_"

Weasley's eyes snapped open at the spell and then Draco sent two more Killing Curses at the hapless fools that rushed through the broken portal and into the chamber.

"What is the incantation to activate the circle?" Draco demanded.

Weasley whimpered, but he reached up and took his wand before mumbling something that Draco didn't quite catch. A bright blue glow surrounded them for a moment before fading away. The sigils on the floor gleamed with fiery blue lines and Draco heaved a sigh of relief when a spell bolt pinged against the invisible barrier and ricocheted away.

"Can anything get through these wards?"

Weasley shook his head. His face was so pale that his freckles stood out like blood-spatter. Some of it was blood spatter, Draco realised. Weasley was peppered with cuts and contusions. Draco glanced at the spear of wood through Weasley's leg. That needed to come out, but it would likely result in a gush of blood that could easily kill him.

"No. It even blocks the Killing Curse. Nothing in, nothing out. "

Draco nodded. No personal defensive spells could block the Killing Curse, but several Warding Charms could. They were built with more intricate magic, tightly-woven, multiple spells. "What about air?"

"We're good there. Ventilation duct in the floor lets in air."

"So we sit tight." Until Weasley died of blood loss. Draco glanced at the passageway where several robed figures were clustered, taking turns sending spells at the warding circle. Draco's eyes narrowed as one of them shoved through the others, moving with a determined stride. Draco nearly rolled his eyes when he noticed the polished Death Eater mask gleaming from within the black folds of the man's hood. _Nice touch_, he thought dryly.

Draco got to his feet and watched the man approach. When he stood on the other side of the glowing barrier, he reached up and pushed back the hood before removing the mask to reveal Virgil Crabbe's mottled, glaring face. "Hello, Draco."

oOo

Weasley had passed out again. Draco took the opportunity to yank off Weasley's tie and fasten it tightly around his thigh as a tourniquet. With luck it would slow the blood flow and keep Weasley from dying until someone managed to rescue them.

While Draco worked, Crabbe and his goons systematically sent spell after spell at the warding circle, which had no effect other than causing the runes to glow more brightly. Draco suspected they were sustained by magic and anything sent against it merely made the wards stronger.

Draco yanked the sliver of wood out of Weasley's leg and tossed it aside. Blood seeped from the wound, but did not gush, thanks to his preventative measures. He sent a spray of water into the wound and it caused Weasley to moan and thrash even in his unconscious state. A Severing Charm removed a length of Weasley's Auror robes and Draco cut them into strips—ragged and uneven thanks to Weasley's wand fighting him every step of the way. Draco cast as many Healing Charms as he could remember, which helped to slow the bleeding, but had little additional effect on so severe a wound. They weren't as efficacious as they could have been. Using Weasley's wand was an exercise in patience.

As he bound the strips around Weasley's bloody thigh, Crabbe's voice bounced through the circle, amplified by the communications globe that sat on the small table next to the chair. Weasley lay on the floor before the dais, but Draco had retrieved one of the pillows from the seat to cushion Weasley's head. He wasn't completely without compassion, after all, even towards a Weasley.

_Doesn't matter at all that he's Harry's best friend_, his conscience prodded in a dry tone. "Of course not," he muttered to himself.

"…can't stay in there forever, Draco. In fact, here comes the person who will release you from your little cage now."

Draco shot a glance at Crabbe, whom he'd been vainly ignoring, and then looked at the passageway with a sinking feeling. Escorted by two rough-looking wizards was Kingsley Shacklebolt. Draco's cursed under his breath. Their chances of escape had just taken a turn for the worse.

"Well, well, well. Who have we here but the Minister for Magic. And I didn't think Draco warranted more than a few shoddy Aurors. Perhaps the brat is worth more than I anticipated."

"How is Weasley, Malfoy?" Shacklebolt called.

"Alive." He wanted to elaborate, to let them know exactly how urgently Weasley needed a healer, but to do so would place even more weapons in Crabbe's hands. And Shacklebolt did not exactly look in a position to assist.

"Weasley?" Crabbe wandered back to the circle and peered at Weasley. "So it is. The blood-traitor is better off dead, but you seem fond of the tainted ones, yeah, Kingsley? If you want to save your Auror you'd best open this circle."

"Draco Malfoy is under my protection. I refuse to hand him over to the first two-knut bully to muscle his way into this facility."

Crabbe spun and Draco could tell by the set of his shoulders that he wanted to lash out. Crabbe was unstable, but probably not stupid enough to kill the Minister. Indeed, Crabbe marched up to Shacklebolt and stared up at him, despite the fact that Shacklebolt towered over him, face impassive.

"Mark my words, I will get that circle open and I will extract my prize." He turned to his men and made a curt gesture. "Go and round up everyone still breathing in this building. We'll have to see how many more agents his Ministership is prepared to lose before he's ready to hand over Draco."

~TBC~


	11. Chapter 11

Harry stepped through the smashed portal with his wand held ready, alert for anything. Zabini and Parkinson crowded close and then fanned out, crossing the empty chamber with admirable efficiency. Zabini flattened himself next to the opposite door and peered around quickly. Parkinson did the same to the other doorway, although light was visible—the roof was open in that direction, Harry remembered, as he hurried to the passageway that led to the interior.

He barely noticed Zabini and Parkinson behind him as he reached the central chamber. A large pillar concealed a lift, but Harry was reluctant to use it. Whoever had broken in had obviously utilised it, judging by the scorch marks in the stone surrounding it. A single guard posted below could take them all out the moment it stopped.

"We should take the stairs. Hopefully they don't know the full layout and won't be expecting anyone from that quarter. It's a bit of a walk, but better down than up. I'll disable this to keep them from sneaking past us, operating on the assumption they're still below and haven't snatched Draco and departed already.

"That had better not be the case," Parkinson warned with a dark glare. "Fucking Ministry should have left him alone."

"He came to _us_," Harry snapped.

"He wanted to help you. Fat lot of good that's done him."

Instead of arguing that Malfoy had done nothing that wouldn't personally gain him something, Harry vowed to ignore her. Now wasn't the time for sniping. He spelled open the control panel next to the lift button and spent a few moments disrupting the charms that caused it to rise and lower.

"Where is the stairwell?" Zabini demanded. "We're wasting time!"

Harry shot him a look and then led them through a dark warren of broken-down passages and ceiling-less rooms until he reached what might have been a cistern in the Dark Ages. He tapped a sequence of stones on the wall and the floor rearranged itself to reveal a stairwell.

"Wait," Harry said. "The wards are down and we don't want Muggle company. Give me a minute to reset the Anti-Muggle Charms."

Parkinson opened her mouth, but Zabini clapped a hand on her arm. "Knock yourself out, Potter. We'll wait here."

Harry gave him a hard stare, but without binding them in place he could hardly keep them there. It should only take him a moment or two to tack up a rudimentary ward, and he considered it a necessity given the proximity to the town nearby. They definitely did not need any innocent Muggles complicating the situation. It was standard procedure. "It will only take a second."

Harry hurried back to a cracked set of stairs that led upwards. He took them two at a time and then sent several spells winging over the remains of the walls. The wards were weak, but they should hold for the next hour or so.

When he made his way back to the cistern stairs, Zabini and Parkinson were gone. Cursing every Slytherin he'd ever met, Harry pelted down into the darkness after them.

oooOooo

Draco glanced up warily when Crabbe's people returned. A small group of ragtag Aurors accompanied them, one of them lying prone and following by way of levitation. Draco blanched when he recognised Auror Klein, the one Potter called Kay-Kay. She walked unsteadily and one side of her face looked like a sheet of blood. Draco wondered where Finnigan was; they were usually found together.

Shacklebolt's face was a mask.

"Look who we have here." Crabbe walked forwards and grabbed Klein by the hair. She grimaced, but made no sound as Crabbe dragged her towards Shacklebolt. "You should have found another line of work, pretty. Now, Minister, perhaps you'll tell me the spell to lower the wards, before I AK this little Auror."

"Auror Klein knew the risks when she signed up for this job," Shacklebolt said in a firm tone and Draco blinked at him in surprise. He'd expected Shacklebolt to be a hardcase, but never to the point of allowing one of his Aurors to die.

"Give me a bloody break!" Crabbe yelled. "It's a fucking Malfoy. His life isn't worth all of this. He isn't worth one hair on this fine figure of an Auror's head." He gave Klein a shake.

"That may be, but he is still under my protection and will remain so. We do not accede to terrorist tactics."

"Until when?" Crabbe roared. "Until I kill you all and blast the very stones out from under him?"

"If that is what it takes." Shacklebolt's dark eyes flashed.

"Unbelievable." Crabbe's mutter was barely audible. He turned and dragged Klein, who stumbled and nearly fell before righting herself with a sharp cry. Crabbe's hand never left her hair and he propelled her to her knees at the edge of the barrier. "Malfoy, you've always had a weakness for beautiful things. Give me the code and come out like a good boy, and I'll spare the life of this lovely girl."

Draco gave him a disdainful stare, careful not to look into Klein's terrified face. "What makes you think I care about the life of some random Auror? There are scads more where that one came from."

Crabbe jerked his head at Weasley. "You seem to care enough about that one."

Draco glanced down at Weasley and then smirked at Crabbe. "I might have need of this one later. You're not getting in, Virgil. Cut your losses and go."

"Give me the spell!"

"I don't have the spell. Why do you think I need this one alive? If you happen to kill everyone out there, I will need a way to get out of here. In fact, I'm curious as to why you've gone through all of this trouble to end in a stalemate. Surely it would have been simpler to take me elsewhere? My habits are not exactly unknown and it would have saved you a prodigious amount of time and effort."

Crabbe gave him and evil smile. "The point is to let you know that there is nowhere you can hide where I cannot ferret you out. No Ministry safe house or bloody fortress will protect you from me, and mark my words, this is no stalemate. I will have you out of there and then I will carve my revenge into your hide."

Draco heaved a sigh. "We've gone over this, Virgil. There was nothing I could do. Vince cast the Fiendfyre and it was only through—"

"_You pulled Goyle out, Draco_. You saved Gregory Goyle and you left my Vincent in there to die and nothing you say will ever change that." Crabbe's eyes were wild, possibly mad—or more than possibly considering the current state of affairs—and despite everything Draco felt a familiar stab of guilt. It was difficult to deny culpability when the truth of Crabbe's words were already etched on his soul, carved there through years of if-onlies.

And even through the guilt he remained glad that Harry had flown them free. Not a day went by that Draco didn't send a hefty mental thanks in Harry's direction. That very thing had set Draco upon his current path, when gratitude had turned into a need to right wrongs, and to tip the scales that had been unbalanced for far too long.

"I can only say I'm sorry so many times." Draco's voice was quiet.

"Then say it again!" Crabbe twisted his hand in Klein's hair and she let out a faint cry of protest. Draco braced himself, half-expecting Crabbe to kill her in a rage, but a ruckus near the passageway drew Draco's attention, and Crabbe followed his line of sight. He released Klein's hair and stepped away from her as Draco's blood froze.

Walking slowly and followed by four of Crabbe's people were Pansy and Blaise. A third, prone body floated behind them—_not Harry_. Draco only had a moment to give thanks that Harry wasn't with them, and then Crabbe was marching towards them with a determined stride.

"Weasley, you're going to need to wake up now," Draco said and nudged him with a toe.

oooOooo

When Harry realised he wouldn't catch up with Parkinson and Zabini, he slowed and tugged his invisibility cloak out of the pouch he'd carried along and slung it on. He hoped it would give him an advantage.

The stairwell let out into a small study, exiting through a rotating bookshelf. The room was empty and the door to the hall was open. Harry slipped out, trying to be quiet, and then broke into a jog when he heard the sound of spells rebounding against stone, and the whisper-shout of hexes being hurled.

He slowed when he reached an open room with a curved ceiling charmed to reflect the outside sky, currently pelting rain, and dark with clouds. In the muted light, Harry could see Zabini and Parkinson holding their own against Kingsley's undersecretary, Quentin Quartermain.

"We're on your side, you stupid arse!" Zabini yelled.

"Any friend of a Malfoy will never be on _our side_!" Quartermain retorted. "I'm here to hand over the Malfoy brat and put an end to this nonsense. You shall not stop me."

"I was wrong. We're not on your side." Zabini's tone was derisive and the hex he sent winging towards Quartermain was just shy of lethal. Harry knew he should step in and stop the fight, but if Quartermain really planned to turn over Malfoy, then it might be best to allow Zabini and Parkinson to incapacitate him. Assuming Malfoy was still in the facility somewhere.

For a foppish snob, Quartermain was handy with a wand. He deflected Zabini's hex with ease and even managed an odd flourish as he sent one in return, before leaping aside to avoid Parkinson's angry red bolt. He reminded Harry of Severus Snape, especially when a sneer twisted his patrician features.

"Crawl back into your serpent holes and leave business to your betters."

"Oh that's enough of that," Parkinson growled and sent a volley of hexes his way. Quartermain deflected several of them, but one slipped through and grazed his foot. His leg solidified into a plank of wood and Quartermain's grace turned into a ragdoll sort of flop. He dragged the wooden leg and hopped smartly to avoid another set of curses spelled his way by Zabini. Malfoy's friends separated and moved in different directions, obviously intending to divide and conquer.

Quartermain cast a shimmering dual Shield Charm—difficult to maintain, Harry knew. Before the scenario could play out, a jagged bolt shot from across the room and hit Quartermain between his unprotected shoulder blades. He flopped forwards and his wooden leg clattered as he fell. Another slough of hexes spiralled from the darkness and set Zabini and Parkinson racing back to one another.

Four wizards in utilitarian robes appeared, sending nonstop coordinated spells at Zabini and Parkinson, battering away at their defensive spells until a Stunner caught Parkinson and sent her to the floor. Zabini looked unrepentant, angry.

Harry lifted his wand to enter the fray; he'd been waiting to see how the scenario played out, and he was curious about Quartermain's presence. Harry didn't recall the undersecretary's name on the "need to know" list in regards to the whereabouts of the safe house. He supposed it was possible that Kingsley had told him about it… But why?

The newcomers were probably Crabbe's men. Just as Harry was about to let loose an _Expelliarmus_, a volley of spells shot from Zabini's wand, spiralling out in a wild assortment and scattering his attackers. Harry opened his mouth to cast and then barely had time to blink as a spell rebounded from the floor and knocked him backwards. He fell, stiff as a board, and could not even swear as the Full-body Bind took hold. To his amazement, no one noticed—they were all making too much noise and his invisibility cloak still covered him. He watched, unable to blink, as Zabini was taken out by a combination _Rictusempra_ and Rubber Bones Hex. Zabini laughed uncontrollably as he struggled to lift his arms. A follow-up _Expelliarmus_ yanked away his wand and then the attackers bound him with magical ropes. Parkinson roused as they did so and she was given the same treatment.

They levitated Quartermain and then gestured the others to precede them into the passageway by which they had entered, not bothering to be quiet. None of them even glanced in Harry's direction, so even if his feet or hands were uncovered they were none the wiser. He was left alone and contemplated the wand in his hand. If he could cast a wordless _Finite Incantatum_, he wouldn't have to wait until the spell wore off.

Steeling himself and trying to clear his mind, Harry concentrated.

oooOooo

Draco prodded at Weasley again and then knelt to slap at his cheeks. Weasley groaned softly. Draco looked at Crabbe, who stopped before Blaise.

"Mr Zabini and Miss Parkinson," Crabbe said pleasantly. "How nice to see Vincent's old friends again, all in one place. I see you are still following Malfoy around like my foolish son used to do. And where is Greg?"

"Hello, Mr Crabbe. I haven't seen Greg in some time." Blaise's tone was polite, but guarded. Pansy's stare flicked from Blaise to Crabbe to Draco and back again. Her features were placid, but Draco could see that her knuckles were white from her clenched fists.

"Well. When all this unpleasantness is done I might have to pay Greg a visit." Crabbe stepped up next to Blaise and put an arm around his shoulders. "Come, Mr Zabini, let us have a talk with our old friend, Draco." He led Blaise towards the edge of the runic circle. As they drew closer, Draco could see a bead of sweat trickle from Blaise's temple down to his smooth jaw. Auror Klein had vacated the spot on the floor and sidled back to Shacklebolt's side, probably hoping to slide into invisibility.

Draco shook Weasley. "Wake up, damn it!"

"Draco," Crabbe said in a congenial tone, "if you would like to keep your friend Blaise alive, I suggest you find the spell to open this circle. I will give you to the count of five."

"I don't know it!" Draco yelled. A spear of panic went through him and he hoped to hell Crabbe was bluffing.

"One."

"Give me a damned minute to wake up Weasley!"

"Two."

Blaise struggled, nearly broke free, and then fell as a Cruciatus Curse brought him down. A cry from Pansy made Draco look up, but two of her escorts held her tightly. Blaise climbed slowly to his feet.

"Three."

"Shacklebolt! Lower the circle!"

"Four."

"_Minister, please_." Panicking, Draco cast a clumsy _Ennervate_ on Weasley with no effect. He tried again and Weasley's blue eyes snapped open, although they were unfocused. Draco shook him. If Shacklebolt had been willing to let Auror Klein die, there was no way in hell he would lift a finger to save Blaise Zabini.

Shacklebolt's voice was implacable. "We can't give in to terrorism, Mr Malfoy. Crabbe, cease this display at once. You won't get—"

"Five. _Avada Kedavra_."

Draco surged to his feet as a familiar green light shot from the end of Crabbe's wand. For as long as he lived, Draco would never forget the expression on Blaise's face as the spell hit; his dark eyes were locked on Draco's, wide with a mixture of surprise and resignation. A partial smirk quirked at Blaise's lips, as if he meant to drawl "Well, isn't this puddle of wet shite" as he'd done a thousand times in the past. Then the light in his eyes flickered out and he toppled sideways, never to deliver another quip. Never to clap Draco on the shoulder, or steal a chip from his plate, never to complain about his expensive shoes getting wet, and never to lean over and point out the fine arse on some bloke or lass walking past.

Pansy's scream barely registered through the icy fury that gripped Draco as he moved his stare from Blaise's body to Crabbe. If only he'd ever mastered wandless magic, the strength of his rage would have been enough to incinerate Crabbe on the spot. His hand clenched so tightly around Weaseley's wand that it was a wonder it hadn't snapped. It took every bit of his willpower not to send ineffectual spells hurling from the wand.

Instead, he glared a silent promise at Crabbe, gathered his icy Malfoy cloak about himself, and turned back to Weasley. Although he hadn't moved, Weasley's stare was alert. Draco met his gaze for a long moment and allowed a miniscule portion of his anguish to leak out. For the first time, he wondered if any of it had been worth the cost.

Crabbe marched over and snatched up Pansy. Draco knew without looking. Pansy was vocal when she was upset, and the current high-pitched tumble of invectives, slurs, and vengeful promises would have made Salazar Slytherin proud.

Draco watched expressionlessly as Crabbe hurled her to the floor next to Blaise's body. She fell silent and her streaming eyes flitted from Blaise to Draco. She was terrified, but it was hardly evident; mostly her features reflected the same rage burning in Draco's chest.

"I don't think I'll bother to count this time. Drop the fucking circle, or Pansy dies." Crabbe's wand jabbed into Pansy's hair.

Draco looked at Weasley, whose eyes were closed again. Draco dropped to his knees and grabbled Weasley's lapels. "Weasley, wake the fuck up. Shacklebolt, _someone_, open the goddamn circle!"

Weasley groaned. Draco slapped his face, frantic.

"_Draco_."

He froze, stilled by Pansy's tone. His focus shifted to her, and in the midst of everything else reflected on her face, he also discovered a placid resignation, something he'd never expected to see.

Her voice slipped into French, smoothly and without effort, as though it were spoken between them daily and not a language that hadn't passed her lips in a good three or four years, beyond a casual swear word or an order for _Escargots de Bourgogne_ or _gateau de rois_.

"Draco, I have loved you since you were a swotty little spoiled brat parading around and trying to show me how to ride your first broom. I loved you all through school and that love never faltered, even when I watched your eyes follow every cock in the room instead of my fabulous assets. I loved you when you did everything possible to save your mad father, and I've loved you even through your never-ending obsession with a certain saviour. I will love you as I take my last breath, my darling."

Draco swallowed hard. His fingers relaxed on Weasley's lapels and his vision blurred as he stared at her. Merlin, he couldn't lose her. Not her and Blaise, both. "I'll get you out." His French sounded rusty to his own ears, or perhaps it was merely the ragged quality of his voice.

"We both know that won't happen." She managed a soft smile. "Now come here and tell me you love me. I want to pretend one last time."

Crabbe was back to making threats, but Draco did not hear him. He crawled to the edge of the barrier and looked into Pansy's beautiful face. She had always stood with him, no matter what, defying her family and former friends, giving up any sort of normal life to trail him around the world, asking for nothing more than whatever scraps Draco had been willing to toss her. And those had been few, Draco knew. Far too few, indeed.

Draco put his hand out until the barrier solidified beneath his fingers. A purplish glow surrounded his hand, tingling with something that would turn into pain if he left it there for long. He ignored it.

"Pans. You are my moon and stars, my ocean, my sky. My candlelight in darkest night and my Warming Charm on the coldest day. You've watched my back and held my hand, and kept my heart whole when I thought it shattered beyond repair. You've wiped my tears and kicked my arse and I will always love you, silly bint." Draco's voice cracked and Pansy smiled through a sob.

"Enough of this gibberish!" Crabbe lifted his wand and brought it down with a swift jab. Draco refused to shut his eyes and Pansy's widened as she braced for the Killing Curse. A loud scream caused them both to jump and then Crabbe was turning away, looking at the entrance passage with a growl. "_What now?_"

And Draco's heart, which he'd thought could not have sunk much lower, fell through the floor into a dark abyss. In the passage stood Harry Potter, half-visible with wand blazing. Even in Draco's despair, he was a sight to behold.

oooOooo

It seemed to take forever to shake off the damned Stunner, but Harry finally managed it—thankful he'd managed to hold onto his wand—and then staggered after Zabini and Parkinson's captors. A simple Scent Detector Charm allowed him to follow the faint trail left by Parkinson's perfume. It was a useful spell and most criminal sorts did not even realise they could be followed by their cologne.

He was surprised when the trail led to a smashed portal that marked the entrance to the interrogation chamber; it was the last place he'd expected them to go. He wondered what spell Crabbe had used to destroy the solid stone door, as it would have required something extremely powerful, and yet controlled enough to keep the entire place from caving in around them.

He didn't have time to puzzle over it; he picked his way through the rubble and moved onwards, and stopped short just inside the broken portal at the sight of a dead Auror—Wilson. Harry blanched and sent a glare towards the chamber. He could hear voices and barely kept himself from racing down the passage and hurling hexes.

He hurried into the chamber to find a scene worse than he'd expected. His gaze flitted from Kingsley, standing at wandpoint between two stern-faced figures, to Malfoy, hunched over a blood-soaked Ron Weasley with one hand glowing against an invisible barrier. Harry nearly ran forwards to see to Ron, and then he noticed the gleaming circle of runes, and Pansy Parkinson on her knees with a man standing over her. By the look of hopeless defeat on Malfoy's face, the man could only be Virgil Crabbe. Next to Parkinson lay Blaise Zabini, either unconscious or dead.

Harry assessed the situation. Two of Crabbe's people stood between Harry and a clear shot at Crabbe; Quentin Quartermain's Levitated body hovered behind them, and a small sound indicated that Quartermain was coming out of the Stunner.

Harry's options were limited. If he took down Crabbe, there was no guarantee that the goons holding Kingsley wouldn't retaliate. He couldn't risk the Minister's life and he didn't think he could take out nine of them on his own. Still, his only advantage was being invisible. He stepped quietly through the rubble, taking care that his cloak made no sound scraping against the rocks.

Quartermain's feet jutted into the easiest path for Harry to take, so he ducked under them and scooted beneath, risking a glance at Malfoy. The anguish on his face was heart-wrenching and Harry feared that Zabini was dead. That did not bode well for Parkinson, who seemed to be talking in low tones to Malfoy.

Harry straightened and stepped forward just as one of Quartermain's guards turned at a moan from the prone man. He swivelled and took a step—straight onto the hem of Harry's cloak. It pulled free, exposing Harry's head and shoulders, just as Crabbe screamed, "Enough of this gibberish!"

The man next to Harry screamed and lifted his wand, just in time to catch an _Impedimenta_ to the face. Harry also took down the second guard and then raised a hasty Shield Charm to counter several spells flung his way by the robed figures surrounding Kingsley.

"Well, well, well," Crabbe said. "If it isn't Harry Potter. Finally, someone of real value." He jerked his chin towards Kingsley, who was being held from behind. A wand tip pressed into the Minister's throat. "Drop your wand, Mr Potter, or Shacklebolt dies. From what the _Prophet_ says, you two are old mates. It would be terrible to have his death on your conscience, now wouldn't it?"

Harry hesitated, wondering if Crabbe were bluffing.

"I'll start with the Auror, then." Crabbe lifted his wand and pointed it at Kay-Kay, who was similarly held next to Kingsley.

Harry tossed his wand aside, cursing his luck. It was obvious he had just made things worse for everyone, except possibly Parkinson, who scuttled away around the edge of the circle until brought up short by a woman Harry hadn't even noticed. She gestured with her wand and Parkinson walked sedately over to join Shacklebolt and the others. Crabbe hadn't seemed to notice his victim's escape. He was fully focussed on Harry. A Summoning Charm called Harry's wand into Crabbe's hand and he smiled when he held it aloft.

"Very good, Mr Potter. Now, if you would be so kind as to take Ms Parkinson's place, I believe I have some unfinished business with Minister Shacklebolt."

"You will not have Malfoy." Kingsley's voice boomed in the room, despite the size of the chamber.

"To save Harry Potter's life? I find that hard to believe. On your knees, Potter."

Harry walked to the spot Parkinson had vacated and knelt, trying not to look at Zabini's still form. It was made easier by the presence of Ron, bloody and just as lifeless-looking inside the barrier. Malfoy had moved away from glowing runes and was leaning over Ron, slapping his cheeks gently.

"He's alive?" Harry asked quietly.

"For now. He needs to get to St Mungo's, but first he needs to wake the fuck up and tell me how to drop this circle." Malfoy speared him with a silver stare. "Do you know how?"

Harry shook his head. "They change it before every use. I haven't been here."

"Minister, we are going to try the countdown thing again since you seem to have some reservations about giving me the bloody spell. I suggest you think about the ramifications of allowing your precious Saviour to die whilst I give you a slow count of five. _One_."

Draco's jaw worked silently and then he picked up Ron's wand.

oooOooo

It was easier this time, surprisingly. From somewhere, Draco had found calm. Perhaps it was simply the knowledge that Pansy was safe, for the moment, or maybe their French words of nonsense had brought him a meagre dosage of peace. They were all destined to die, after all. It was only a matter of time.

But, all things considered, Draco would rather not die today. And he had no intention of allowing Harry to die.

"Two," Crabbe said just as Draco cast a strong "_Ennervate!_"

Weasley's eyes snapped open and he gasped, just before wrinkling his brow and hissing before drawing in a long, tortured-sounding breath. "Hurts."

"I realise that, Weasley, but we have a situation here and you need to wake up now."

Weasley's mouth turned down and his eyes fluttered shut. Draco reached down and squeezed his leg, just below the bloody gash. Weasley screamed and clarity returned to his wide-open eyes. "Bloody hell, you son of a—!"

"Three."

Draco snatched the back of Weasley's head and dragged his face upwards, turning it until he had a clear view of Harry. Weasley's jaw gaped. Draco growled, "Either give me the spell to lower this circle or do it yourself, but it needs to happen now."

"Weasley, do not open that circle!"Shacklebolt yelled. "That's an order!"

Weasley's eyes went even wider and a squeaking sound emitted from his throat, reminiscent of their school days when Draco wore a badge proclaiming "Weasley is our king!"

"If you allow Harry to die out there I will kill you in here very, _very_ slowly," Draco warned.

"Four."

Weasley grabbed the wand from Draco and spoke several clear syllables, wincing with pain as he swished the wand through the air. The blue runes flickered and went dark.

Crabbed stepped into the circle and Draco got slowly to his feet, watching the man warily. And then he smiled brightly. "Virgil! What are you doing here?"

~TBC~

(Author's Note: Apologies for this chapter! For those of you familiar with the show - I couldn't fridge Pansy. I just couldn't do it, so Blaise had to take the fall. *cringes* Anyway, the last line of this chapter was taken directly from the Anslo episode because Red's delivery was bloody hilarious.)


	12. Chapter 12

Crabbe ushered Draco out of the circle with a claw-like grip on his bicep. Draco frowned when they stopped and Crabbe regarded Shacklebolt with a look that Draco didn't like.

"Let them go, Virgil. There's been enough bloodshed."

"Are you honestly pleading for the lives of these Ministry twats?" Crabbe sneered at Shacklebolt. "You should be careful of Draco, here. He doesn't look like much, but I once saw him kill four men with a single spell. Flawlessly executed. I think only two other men on the planet could have managed it, and both of them are in this room."

"I suppose one them is you?"

Crabbe showed his teeth at Draco in what he supposed was meant to be a smile. "Of course." He turned to one of his underlings. "Bring Potter."

"He's of no use to you, Virgil. He'll only slow you down."

"Do I look like I give a rat's fuck what you think, Draco?"

They manhandled Potter ahead of them until a portion of Crabbe's group clustered together. Draco saw Quentin Quartermain climb to his feet near the entrance tunnel, holding one hand against his temple as he blinked at them.

"Kill them all," Crabbe ordered and then he grabbed Draco's arm and a Portkey swept them away.

They stopped spinning in an open field with rain pouring down on them. A tumble-down barn fashioned of greying wood and overgrown with ivy stood nearby. Crabbe ushered them towards it.

"More Portkeys inside, of course. We can't have the Ministry following us through any tracking spells they might have placed on dear Draco here. If they survive."

Draco stumbled on a clump of grass and slammed into one of Crabbe's people, a solidly-built woman who reminded him of Millicent Bullstrode. She shoved—even more Millicent-like—and Draco staggered against Harry, trying to catch his balance. Harry caught him and they were locked in a frozen embrace.

"Sheffield," Draco murmured. "Ms Gryphon."

Crabbe tore him away from Harry with a roar, but by then Draco had already pressed the wand he'd nicked from the woman into Harry's hand.

Draco smiled as Harry Apparated away. Of course, Crabbe was livid. Draco suffered for a short time, tortured with unremarkable Cruciatus Curses and a number of other unpleasant things that Crabbe thought of on the spur of the moment, but eventually the need to escape overcame Crabbe's desire to inflict pain, and they continued on to the old barn and then away.

Draco considered it well worth the torment. Harry was gone.

oooOooo

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" Harry was so angry he wanted to kick something. His glare fixed on Kingsley. "Were you _actually_ going to let him kill me?" Despite the fact that Harry hated his celebrity status, he wasn't stupid enough to ignore the point that it had its uses, at times, and he'd always thought that the bloody _Minister for Magic_ cared enough to keep him alive, and not merely for political reasons.

Kingsley snorted. "He was bluffing, Harry. You're far too valuable alive. Unfortunately, Malfoy fell for it." He shook his head. "Never would have thought he would cave like that to save your life. He let Zabini die and would have let Parkinson, as well. It was only when you showed up…"

It didn't make sense to Harry, either, and he was already frantic over the thought of what Crabbe would do to Dra—Malfoy. He didn't want to think about what such a thing meant. Malfoy couldn't care about him. _He couldn't_.

Harry had Apparated straight back to the compound, to find Crabbe's remaining people either dead or incapacitated. They had attempted to fulfil Crabbe's last order, but apparently had disregarded Ron as a threat, thinking he'd passed out again. But Ron had caused enough chaos with a barrage of hexes to give the others a fighting chance. Kay-Kay had taken him straight to St Mungo's the moment the fighting had ended.

Harry hoped Ron would be all right, but now the important thing was finding Draco. He took Seamus back to the field he'd Apparated from and they raced to the abandoned barn, wands ready, only to find it empty. Crabbe and the others were gone.

Frustrated anew, Harry returned to the ruins where Kingsley and the others were assessing the damage.

"Where is Parkinson?" Harry asked.

Kingsley knelt down to check the pulse of Auror Wilson, even though it was obvious he was dead. "She Disapparated the moment she got a wand in her hand. I think she was gone before Auror Weasley's second victim hit the floor."

Harry grimaced. He had hoped Parkinson would have been able to track Draco—Malfoy—oh, fuck it. _Draco_. Draco, who'd had a wand _in his hand_ and he'd passed it to Harry instead of escaping. Harry's fists clenched reflexively. Why had he done it?

"I need to check on Ron."

"Excellent idea, Harry. And then go home. You shouldn't even be here. We'll find Malfoy."

"Yeah. Thanks, Kingsley. I'll see you later." Harry gave him a small wave and used his borrowed wand to Apparate to St Mungo's. After that, he needed to go to Sheffield and locate Ms Gryphon, whoever the hell she was.

oOo

Ron looked terrible, but the fact that he was awake and complaining about being hungry was a good sign. Hermione sat at his bedside, holding his hand and looking worried. "No, you cannot have battered cod and chips, only the items on your 'acceptable foods' list, as instruct—Harry!"

Hermione got up and threw herself at Harry. Ron shot him a relieved-looking smile. "Bloody hell, it's good to see you, mate. How'd you get away?"

"Malfoy grabbed a wand and threw it to me. I don't know what's got into him." Harry met Hermione's eyes and whatever she saw there caused her to pull him into another hard embrace.

"Oh, Harry."

"Shit. So Crabbe's still got him, then?"

"Yeah. I need to…"

"Go get him back." Ron nodded. "Git saved my life, too." He settled more heavily into the pillows and shut his eyes. "Merlin, why do these hospital potions always put you to sleep?"

Hermione released Harry. "Because you heal better when you're asleep. Don't fight it. Harry and I will be back soon." She walked over and pressed a kiss to Ron's forehead. His eyes snapped open again.

"You and Harry?"

"He might stand a better chance of finding Malfoy with my help. Now, rest up."

"Yeah, okay. Just be careful."

Hermione squeezed his hand, tucked the blankets around him more tightly, and then turned to Harry. "Where do we start?"

oOo

Finding Ms Gryphon took forever. The town's magical registry was closed—in fact, the entire Sheffield local government was closed for some sort of festival or another—and Harry's fruitless enquiring about the whereabouts of a Ms Gryphon were beginning to gather suspicious looks and sotto voce mutters.

He and Hermione had been asking at various taverns until Hermione pointed out that respectable witches tended not to hang around in taverns, and perhaps it would be a smarter idea to question local businesses that did not serve alcohol. Harry thought that the people Draco knew seemed to be the sort that would hang around in taverns, but he also knew better than to argue with Hermione. They considered the local library, but discovered it was also closed, and finally decided to follow the directions printed on the local flyers to the food festival.

The entire populace seemed to be in attendance, judging by the size of the crowd.

"On the plus side," Hermione said, "Ms Gryphon is probably here."

"On the reverse side, we haven't a clue what she looks like or who she is." Harry let out a frustrated sigh and combed a hand through his hair. "This is madness!"

"We need to find someone in Malfoy's circle who knows her."

"I don't know anyone in Malfoy's circle, other than Parkinson." Except that he did. There was Agatha, the potions-diluter and Consuelo, the cook and master forger. The chances that either of them knew Ms Gryphon were slim, but standing around looking for a needle in a haystack seemed even more fruitless. And then Harry caught sight of black hair, cut in an attractive bob. "I think we just got lucky."

Taking care not to jostle too many people aside, Harry quickly wove through the crowd with Hermione on his heels. He reached out and caught the woman's arm. Dark eyes flashed when she stared at him and then widened.

"Hello, Pansy," Harry said.

oooOooo

Draco winced as he was hoisted up by his wrists. Crabbe was a sadist, for certain. He'd used chains rather than ropes or magical bindings; Draco could feel blood trickling down his arms already, soaking his shirt sleeves until an ungentle series of Severing Charms shredded his shirt and it was torn away. The damp air stung the slashes on his torso left by the spells. Whatever building they were in now leaked like a sieve. It was pouring outside by the sound of it, and the steady sound of droplets issued from several places around the room, a constant drip-drip-drip as it pinged onto the worn wooden floor.

Draco's toes dragged on the same floor, brushing it as he spun slowly from the chain, he was up too high to gain purchase and take some of the pressure off of his aching arms and wrists. The beams overhead creaked, protesting his weight.

"I'm not supposed to kill you," Crabbe said in a conversational tone. "Not yet, anyway. Someone wants a word with you."

"And who might that be?" Draco asked, striving for bored.

"Dunno. But they paid a pretty penny for me to pull you out of a Ministry safe house. A message, if you will, that you aren't safe anywhere."

"Mission accomplished. Well done."

"Yeah, well, he also wants you softened up for questioning. He almost didn't need to pay me for that bit. The Galleons are just custard on the cake, to be sure."

"Questioning regarding what, exactly?"

Crabbe shrugged. "Didn't ask. Don't care. Here comes your first dose now."

_Dose?_ Draco turned his head but his body had begun a slow spin in the opposite direction and he couldn't see the newcomer. He could only hear footsteps on the boards. Crabbe's other minions had retired elsewhere, clomping down a set of stairs and disappearing either downstairs or back to their respective homes.

Were they planning to use Veritaserum? It made sense, if they intended to question him. He felt a hand clutch at his waistband and drag him back around to face Crabbe. A potion vial lay in his hand and beyond him stood a thin wizard with a pinched face and enormous, haunted-looking eyes.

"Have you ever heard of Excrutiatus Elixir, Draco?"

His blood froze at the words. _Fuck_. He would have preferred Veritaserum a thousand times over. "Can't say that I have," he lied.

"Funny. Thought you were an expert brewer." He shook the vial, which contained a muddy green-brown liquid with dark flecks. It would smell like burnt toast, Draco knew, and had a slew of nasty side effects. "What this does is magnifies pain. You know what an ordinary Cruciatus Curse feels like, of course. I remember the Dark Lord having at you a few times. I'll bet he never used this on you, though. He liked to save it for special occasions. Hold him."

The thin wizard moved around behind Draco and he felt hands on his hips, steadying him. The grip also applied more pressure to his wrists and straining arms. He clenched his teeth, wondering if he'd be able to spit out the potion. Crabbe likely didn't have more than one bottle lying around. It was difficult to brew, expensive, and highly illegal.

The answer to that question was quickly given as Crabbe cast a spell to open Draco's jaw and lock it in place. Draco cursed himself for even hoping. Of course Crabbe would know the quickest way to administer potions. He gripped Draco's jaw with one hand and tipped the liquid in with the other. Draco exhaled sharply and managed to blow a portion of the elixir into Crabbe's face, but then the spell was released and Crabbe's wand jabbed into his throat with a muttered hex that made Draco swallow involuntarily. He allowed Draco to cough and choke as he stepped away and wiped his face with the back of an arm. Draco gagged a few times, hoping to vomit, but the repugnant potion stayed down. The taste infiltrated his nasal passages and seemed to coat his tongue with slime. It smelled of burnt toast but tasted like ground cockroaches and spoiled milk, or something equally vile. Before he could recover from the horrendous flavour, an icy chill sent a shiver through his nerve endings and he knew the potion had taken hold.

Draco allowed himself a moment of self-indulgent pity and then took a deep breath and began to compartmentalise his mind. He had studied Occlumency from a very young age and it had served him well during the Dark Lord's period of residence in Malfoy Manor. He had learnt to empty his thoughts and focus on a single thing to the exclusion of everything else. That part was relatively easy. The difficulty lay in maintaining an air of normalcy, to react in an expected fashion whilst locking everything else away.

"Tell me, Draco, why Potter? Don't worry; you don't have to answer just yet. I look forward to squeezing it out of you, one hex at a time." Crabbe's face twisted into an ugly smile and then he said, "_Crucio!_" and Draco's world turned an excruciating shade of red.

oooOooo

Harry did not release Parkinson's arm until they were well out of the crowd and seated on a wooden bench beneath the window of a closed gift shop.

"Are you here for Ms Gryphon?" Harry asked.

"How do you know about Gryphon?"

"Draco gave me her name just before he helped me escape. Unfortunately, he didn't have the time to tell me where or how to find her, other than Sheffield. Will she be able to help us find Draco?"

Parkinson looked from him to Hermione and then nodded. "Blaise might have known a different way, but—" She stared at the ground for long moments without blinking, probably in an attempt to fight back tears. Harry impulsively put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry." His throat tightened. Zabini had been a pain in the arse, but his personality had been growing on Harry, and he'd been utterly devoted to Draco, all the way to the end.

Parkinson nodded and then shot to her feet. "Let's find Gryphon and get this over with. She wasn't home, so I was searching the crowd here. She won't be hard to find." With that, Parkinson headed back into the fray. Harry hurried to keep her in sight as she pushed through the attendees without apology.

"She's not exactly subtle, is she?" Hermione griped, bumping up against his shoulder as he sent a repentant smile at a spindly man nearly bowled over as Parkinson shoved past.

"Got her!" Parkinson said and broke into a jog. She pulled up short next to a huge woman wearing a beaded burgundy corset over satiny black skirts. A black lace shawl draped over her shoulders, matching the lace-bedecked tiny hat she wore over a cascade of brown curls. "Gryphon."

The woman gasped and then lifted Parkinson up and squeezed her until Harry feared her spine would crack. He fingered his wand, wondering if that was Gryphon's intention, and then Parkinson growled, "Put me down, you oaf!"

When she plopped back to her feet, Parkinson straightened her clothing with a glare.

"Pansy, darling, what are you doing here? Not just visiting, I…" Gryphon's words trailed off and her eyes widened as she took in Harry and Hermione. At the same moment, Harry's jaw gaped open and Hermione gasped.

"_Greg?_" Harry asked in a stage whisper.

Gryphon's eyes narrowed to slits and her fists rose—a delicate black handbag dangled from one wrist and spun on silken cords as she caressed the knuckles of one hand. "The name is _Christine_ now. Pansy, what is Potter doing here?"

"We need your help. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. Draco is in danger. Life-threatening danger."

The woman whom Harry had once known as Gregory Goyle looked around at the crowd carefully, as though scanning for danger, and then nodded. "We will talk over tea." With that, she set off at a ground-eating walk. Harry glanced at Hermione and bit back a mouthful of questions.

Gryphon lived in a small cottage nestled midway between a long row of similar domiciles. A profusion of flowers bedecked the slat fence and archway over the tiny front walk. The interior of the house was almost excessively feminine. Floral patterns covered every upholstered surface and strings of jewelled beads hung from the doorways and curtain rods. A quick spell opened several sets of curtains and spilled light into the room, giving it a cosy feel.

"Sit down. I'll make some tea."

"There isn't time—" Parkinson began.

"There is always time for tea. Won't be a moment." Gryphon sailed through a jewel-hung archway and disappeared, leaving the beads clacking and swaying behind her.

"That was…unexpected," Hermione commented.

Parkinson sank into a soft-looking chair and nodded. "Greg did a lot of soul-searching after the war. She seems much happier now."

Harry and Hermione sat on the sofa and waited. None of them spoke again until Gryphon returned with a huge ceramic tray covered in tiny teacups and a steaming pot of tea. She sat down in the last remaining chair and poured tea for all of them. Harry took his cup and held it carefully. The porcelain looked especially fragile.

"What has Draco done now?" Gryphon asked. Her voice was slightly high-pitched and Harry didn't know whether it was an affectation or if she'd had it magically altered.

"He's been captured by Virgil Crabbe. We're pretty certain that Virgil plans to torture him to death." Parkinson's words were blunt and even more so as she added, "He killed Blaise."

Gryphon set her teacup on the table. Her face had gone pale and she sat back in her chair. Pansy looked away and sipped at her tea. Both hands cradled her cup.

"What do you need me to do?" Gryphon asked.

"The only way to find Draco now is with the Dark Mark."

"Shit."

Pansy nodded and set her cup down. Harry looked at Hermione with a frown, but she seemed just as confused.

"Wait, you can locate him with the Dark Mark? Why didn't Blaise do that earlier? When we were looking for the safe house?"

"Blaise never took the Mark. And neither did I. We wouldn't bother Christine without a bloody good reason, and chances are Blaise wasn't desperate enough at the time. It was a lack of any other options that brought me here. You know that, right, Chris?"

Gryphon nodded. "Draco only owls when he needs something. You've all been good about leaving me in peace. That's all I wanted after the war."

_That's all we all wanted_, Harry thought, but life seldom worked out as requested. He thought about Eddie then, and Draco, and the way his job had tangled everything into a hopeless snarl. _Oh fuck… Eddie_. He winced when he considered how their next conversation would go. Harry hadn't even sent Eddie a Patronus to let him know why he'd been gone the entire day.

"All right, then. Let's get this over with. Where shall we do it?"

"Probably the bedroom. From what I recall, you're going to want to lie down."

"Yeah."

"Granger, this process is not pleasant. If it works, Potter and I will leave to try to find Draco. Are you willing to stay with Christine and make sure she's resting comfortably before you leave? A pain potion or two would be helpful, and maybe a Sleeping Draught after."

Hermione exchanged an anxious glance with Harry and then nodded. "Of course."

"Chris, do you have pain potions? Taking one in advance would probably be a good idea."

"In the kitchen cabinet. Second one from the left."

Pansy got up and went through a doorway. Gryphon rose and sighed heavily. "I'd better prepare, then. Just let me change. Don't want to lie down in this corset."

Harry sat back down. He'd instinctively risen when Gryphon had got to her feet—ingrained manners from his Dursley days—and then gave Hermione a shake of his head when the other door closed behind Gryphon.

"Did you know about the Dark Mark?" Hermione asked.

"No. I thought the Dark Marks all became inert after Voldemort's defeat."

"So did I."

"They did," Parkinson said, returning from the kitchen with several small vials in hand. "Draco linked his with Greg—with Christine—so he would have a way to contact her in dire circumstances, or vice-versa. The process, however, is unpleasant. As far as I know, they've only used it once." She continued on into the bedroom after a quick knock on the door. Harry and Hermione followed.

Gryphon was sat on the bed, wearing a dark blue velvet dressing gown patterned with white orchids. She looked uneasy and almost vulnerable after the clothing change and Harry wondered if she preferred heavy skirts and corsets as a sort of armour. It made sense, he supposed.

"All right," Parkinson said, "take this and lie down. We'll give it a minute to take effect and then I'll cast the spells."

"Do you have a map handy?" Gryphon asked and took the potion. She tipped it back and then gave the empty vial to Parkinson, who had patted a portion of her robes.

"I brought one along."

Gryphon lay back against the pillows—solid blue with no floral pattern, just like the bedcovers. Harry noticed there wasn't a speck of green to be found; apparently Gryphon had left everything behind when she'd changed, including mementos of anything Slytherin.

Parkinson pulled out a folded piece of parchment and spread it on the bed next to Gryphon, smoothing it out to reveal a map of the United Kingdom. Gryphon rolled up the sleeve of her dressing gown to reveal the ugly skull and reptilian lines of the Dark Mark. It looked especially out of place amidst the white orchid pattern of her dressing gown. "All right. Let's hope this works."

With a deep breath, Parkinson went still and then began to cast.

oooOooo

Draco spun slowly and his toes trailed over the circle already drawn there from a dozen previous rotations. He no longer bothered to try and balance his weight on his toes; it had been a lost cause to begin with, and now he could only concentrate on trying to pull in another breath and exhale before he strangled on pain.

The potion had been effective, and he'd filed it away for reference. If he lived, he hoped to petition the Ministry to add half the ingredients in the elixir to the Banned Substances list. In his opinion, it was worse than the Cruciatus Curse itself. The feel of his trouser fabric against his skin was extremely painful; the air itself held various levels of hurt, and the multitude of Cruciatus Curses that Crabbe had thrown at him had nearly broken him ten times over. He'd suppressed every scream of agony with difficulty and might have cracked and spilled anything and everything that Crabbe wanted, except for one thing. Harry Potter. As bizarre as it seemed, the thought of Harry alone kept Draco from breaking.

_Harry could take this_, Draco kept telling himself. _Harry would never break, no matter what._

Crabbe's curses had grown stronger and wilder as the minutes had ticked away, and his questions had become angrier and more incomprehensible. In truth, Draco had barely any recognition of what he was saying. The only thing he could think about was how to compartmentalise and minimise the pain. Everything else was secondary.

"You have a visitor, Draco, you bloody bastard." Crabbe's voice sounded regretful, as though he despaired of the fact that he had to leave off torturing him. "I'll leave you two alone for a bit while I rest up and have a refreshing drink of water."

Draco glared at him, although even that took effort. His throat was dry as dust and he would have killed for a teaspoon of water, another side-effect of the potion.

A cloaked figure approached and spoke briefly with Crabbe as their paths crossed, and then Crabbe continued on towards the steps whilst the newcomer strode closer to Draco.

"Mr Draco Malfoy. How the mighty have fallen." Pale hands lifted the hood away from a face Draco had never seen before. Heavy fragrance assaulted him—too much cologne. With Draco's senses enhanced to magnify every nuance, it was painfully jarring. The voice was cool and unfamiliar, with a cultured accent. The man's face was pleasing to look upon; encountering him at a social function might have caused Draco to attempt to get to know him better. Now, however, he knew the man wasn't what he appeared.

"I know who you are," Draco rasped. Speaking was difficult, and it hurt as much as any other action.

A short laugh met his words and the man examined his short, manicured nails. His hair was sandy blond, and cut attractively. "I doubt that."

"It was not particularly difficult to determine your identity. I am curious, however, as to why you have pursued me so relentlessly. What have I ever done to you?"

"Your attempt at small talk could be a way to get me to provide you with information to assist in learning who I am, in the event you are bluffing. But to answer your question, I sent Crabbe after you to prove that I could, to assure you that you are no threat to me. In fact, you are less than nothing."

"I doubt that you would allow several Aurors to die because I mean less than nothing to you." Draco would have sneered, but his lower lip was swollen from an earlier blow Crabbe had delivered with one of his meaty fists. Even talking was excruciating.

The man shrugged. "I care nothing for the Auror Department. I would, however, suggest that you crawl back into your dark hole and stay away from the Ministry, and from Harry Potter."

"Or what?"

"Or I will allow Crabbe to continue on his quest to eliminate you."

"You should know that if I die, I have made provisions to expose you, whether or not my assumption of your identity is correct. Perhaps I am wrong. Are you willing to take that chance?"

Another shrug. "We will see. I am not particularly worried about your little threats."

"I have prepared missives that will be sent to the Aurors and the press." Draco did not, actually, but he did have a file that would be delivered to Harry in the event of his untimely demise. He would, however, do everything in his power to prevent the necessity of it being sent.

The man chuckled. "I think you lie. Enjoy your last few minutes, Malfoy, although I suppose that isn't really an option. If Crabbe should allow you to live, however, and you continue on your current path, I will hunt down and destroy everyone you ever cared about. And that is a promise." With that, he turned and departed. Draco spent the next few minutes alone, reflecting on the strange conversation and wondering how the hell he would get out of this mess alive.

When Crabbe returned, he was grinning even more unpleasantly than before.

"Draco. Isn't it lovely? I've been granted my fondest wish. To torture you until you are dead. And believe me; I plan for you to suffer, rather like I imagine my poor Vincent suffered in that fire. The one that you miraculously escaped from."

He lifted his wand and Draco steeled himself, only to scream aloud when pain assailed him from a completely unexpected source—his Dark Mark. Agony clawed through him; it felt like the tattoo had come to life and was eating its way down his arm, ripping through muscle and sinew straight to the bone, and the pain was magnified by the potion he'd ingested until he nearly passed out from the white-hot agony. In point of fact, it was entirely possible that he fainted.

"…the fuck? I didn't even touch you. Wake up, you bastard!"

Draco drew in a tortured breath and exhaled with a shudder. His eyes were tightly closed and spasms of pain wracked his body while a bizarre ringing tormented his ears. He could barely hear Crabbe's words. They sounded like they were being spoken through a concrete tunnel.

Every breath was torture. _Focus, Draco, bloody hell. You're going to die if you don't get a fucking handle on this._

Draco forced his eyes open. Crabbe inhaled and then he wavered back slightly before catching himself and holding his ground. Draco felt a fierce wave of satisfaction that a single, hate-filled glare could cause his captor to consider flight, if only for an instant. And then Crabbe's wand was up, brandished with smug determination before Draco's face.

"You are awake. Good. That will save me from—"

Draco never discovered what his alert state would save Crabbe from, because he snapped his head forwards and snatched Crabbe's wand with his teeth, holding tightly enough that he feared his molars would crack.

Turning his head slightly, he gritted, "_Avada Kedavra!_"and shoved the tip in the direction of Crabbe's astonished stare. "You have to mean it," his Aunt Bellatrix had once told him, and by the fucking Founders of Hogwarts and every damned wizard ever born, Draco meant every bloody syllable at that moment, uttered through blood and pain.

Brilliant green light exploded from the wand tip and struck Crabbe a glancing blow just above his left eyebrow, but it was enough. He dropped like a felled tree at Draco's feet. Draco closed his eyes and allowed himself a single moment of satisfaction. The wand tasted vile and his teeth ached, but he didn't dare loosen his jaw. After a slow count of five, he jerked his head upwards and to the right while uttering a single word. An instant later he collapsed to the floor on top of Crabbe's still body.

Draco chuckled, feeling extraordinarily _not himself_, and forced himself to his feet. His hands were still bound together by the blood-slicked metal chains, but they had been severed from the rafter. Several links dragged on the dusty floor when he stood. He was shaking like a new-born calf.

"You were saying?" he rasped and then kicked at Crabbe. A sudden burst of rage enveloped him and he slammed his foot into Crabbe's side again. "How does that feel? Who has the upper hand now, you worthless fuck?" He kicked at Crabbe's unmoving form once more and missed. His heel brushed Crabbe's ribs and nearly snagged on the fabric of his shirt, but broke free at the last moment. Draco fell to one knee with a violent wince. The renewed sensation of pain shocked him back to some semblance of rationality and he realised that Crabbe's goons could wander upstairs at any time. He had a wand now and he needed to get the hell away from here.

Draco pushed himself to his feet and picked up Crabbe's wand. Draco had dropped it during his angry tirade. A few flicks and swishes later and he was free of the chains and in possession of a different, and far more receptive, wand.

Two minutes later, he was gone.

~TBC~


	13. Chapter 13

Christine Gryphon screamed and arched so violently on the bed that Harry shot to his feet with a spell at the ready. Parkinson thrust out a hand and threw him a glare that was obviously a warning.

"Don't."

Shaking, Harry sat back down, but his grip did not loosen on his wand. Gryphon was obviously in severe pain. The Dark Mark on her arm glowed suddenly with a garish orange light, and then the map began to quiver on the bed.

Parkinson snatched up the parchment. "There," she murmured and pointed.

Harry and Parkinson burst into the abandoned warehouse with wands blazing. Harry shouted practiced phrases such as, "Halt! Drop your wands!" and "Auror Division!" but was no one there to hear them.

With a silent Parkinson next to him, Harry walked into the empty room and surveyed Virgil Crabbe's dead body. Severed metal chains dangled from the roof joist above, but Draco Malfoy was gone.

Harry looked at Parkinson in astonishment, and found her dark eyes reflecting his sense of disbelief.

How had Draco escaped? And where had he gone?

oOo

By the time Harry made it home, it was nearing midnight. Crabbe's men had come rushing up the stairs at the noise, but after Parkinson's enraged hexes had dropped several of them, the others had fled. Parkinson had given chase, effectively abandoning Harry, and he had gone back to the Ministry to fill in Kingsley on his attempt to locate Draco, and also to drop off Crabbe's body at the morgue. He'd picked up the requisite paperwork, even though he had no intention of writing reports until, at best, the next afternoon.

He felt half-starved, so after divesting himself of all extraneous materials, including his borrowed wand, he went into the kitchen and cut several large slices of bread. After topping them with cheddar, he toasted them (only burning one due to the unfamiliarity of the wand) and wolfed them down, gulping pumpkin juice straight from the bottle and hoping Eddie wouldn't wake up. He hated it when Harry didn't use a glass.

Harry looked at the wand and wondered what had happened to his. It hadn't been on Crabbe's body, nor had any of the others, including Parkinson's. He could only hope that Draco had taken them when he'd escaped. The borrowed wand was somewhat stumpy and rough, made of hewn oak with little character.

After tidying the kitchen, Harry went into the living room and sank down on the couch, giving in to a moment of sadness when he thought about Blaise Zabini sleeping in the same spot. It seemed a terrible shame never to see his bright grin flash in a wicked smirk, or hear his soft laugh after a sarcastic gibe.

Harry unbuttoned his shirt with a depressed sigh. Death seemed to follow him everywhere. He tossed his shirt on the floor and followed it with his shoes and socks. Without bothering to do more than loosen his jeans, he sprawled on the couch and dragged a blanket over himself. Before he nodded off to sleep, he thought he heard someone step in the hallway, but although he roused himself back to semi-wakefulness, the footsteps retreated. Counting himself lucky that Eddie hadn't started a row, he allowed sleep to take him.

oooOooo

After escaping from Crabbe, Draco thought it best to make himself as scarce as possible, so after a few random Apparition jumps and a few more deliberate ones, he made it to a dark alley in a run-down, seedy area of Scotland, mostly deserted at night except for a few stray gang members and cutthroats. A simple Disillusionment Charm was enough to pass Muggles without notice, until he reached the abandoned shack wherein he'd stashed a number of Portkeys.

After one nauseating, spinning journey later, he fell to the ground on the outskirts of London, in an overgrown yard attached to a rust-coated warehouse building. There, he vomited a couple of times, thankful that it was too dark to notice if it contained blood. He suspected it did, based on the way he felt. He needed medicinal potions, and quickly.

Two more Apparitions took him to a place of safety, thankfully deserted, and he staggered through the place, ransacking it for healing potions. He finally located a large stash of them in a bathroom cupboard. The array was notable, and he thanked his lucky stars to find a Bone-Mending Potion along with several strong painkillers, and even a Blood Replenishing Potion. He took them all after weighing the side effects of combining them and decided that the risk was an acceptable alternative to suffering what he already felt.

After that, he ran a hot bath and gratefully sank into the water for a long, blissful soak. Once his physical body began to hurt less, he turned his attention to the future. He would need to send an owl to Pansy as soon as possible; otherwise she would turn the world upside down searching for him. And then there was Gryphon. Draco would have to send her something special for going through the agony of locating him.

Draco would have stayed in the torture room to await Pansy, but he was afraid that Harry would be with her, and Draco had things to do that Harry didn't necessarily need to be witness to. Several things. He shut his eyes with a groan and began to make mental lists.

**19th July, 2005 - Tuesday**

Eddie was not as considerate in the morning. In fact, he was in a snit, judging by the amount of pot banging and cupboard slamming that emanated from the kitchen, waking Harry from a sound slumber.

Harry pulled a pillow over his face to try and block out the sounds, but he groaned, knowing that Eddie had no intention of allowing him to sleep any longer. He might as well get up and have the fight over with.

"Sleeping on the sofa now? Really?" Eddie cracked three eggs with a spell and they dropped into the sizzling skillet.

"I didn't want to wake you." He felt somewhat cowardly about it now, truth be told, but his bedroom door creaked and he hadn't wanted to awaken Eddie. He'd also been too tired to think rationally and the sofa had looked welcoming and comfortable. "And I was exhausted." He still was, actually, and wanted nothing more than crawl into a bed (or even sprawl on the sofa) and go back to sleep.

"Well, of course—"

"Ron is in the hospital."

Eddie dropped the spatula he'd been using to poke at the eggs. He stared at Harry with his mouth open in a moue of horror. "What? Merlin, is he all right? What happened? Rowena, listen to me acting like a spoiled brat when your best friend is—"

"He's fine. Or he will be fine. He was wounded in an altercation." Harry tried not to sound relieved, but he was thankful for the ability to deflect Eddie's anger.

"And you? Were you part of this _altercation_?"

Harry shook his head, for the first time glad he'd arrived at The Lockbox late. It saved him from lying. "No." He did not elaborate.

"No?" Eddie raised a brow and then turned back to his cooking.

Harry frowned. "No. I arrived after Ron had been wounded. I went to see him at St Mungo's, of course."

Eddie sighed heavily. "Naturally. I mean, that's good. It's normal, obviously. But it would have been nice to have received an owl or something. It's not like I was sitting up half the night wondering about your safety and if you were even coming home. Oh wait, I _was_."

Harry clenched his teeth. "Sorry. You're right. I should have owled."

"No, I suppose it's something I need to get used to, since you've obviously taken up with the Aurors again. It's back to long hours and sleepless nights, fearing the worse whilst you doggedly pursue wrongdoers without a moment's thought of the people who love you sitting at home worrying about you."

Harry shied away from the word _love_. He wasn't ready to hear it, especially not in the context of an irritated tirade, and definitely not whilst covering ground they had already been over time and again. Harry was tired of being painted the bad guy while Eddie was the long-suffering paragon of virtue.

"You know, I'm not out traipsing around going to clubs, or picking up men, or having a good time without you. I'm out there trying to prevent senseless deaths and stop people from committing heinous crimes and _hurting other people_. Do you really think my staying in with you playing Exploding Snap or going for romantic walks is more important?"

Eddie scraped the bottom of the pan so hard that a glop of half-cooked egg flipped out of the pan and sizzled on the cooker. "No, of course I don't. I am fairly certain that I don't even rate a mention on the Harry Potter Scale of Vital Importance. I'm starting to believe I'm lower than 'disposing of the rubbish' or 'scrubbing the fireplace'."

Harry glared at him. The headache he'd discovered upon awakening had bloomed into a full-blown near-migraine and he knew that ugly words would slip past his usual filters if he didn't do something to stop them.

"I am far too tired to get into this with you right now. I'm going home to get some sleep. We'll continue this later."

"Yes, run along and avoid the issue. _Like you always do_." Eddie picked up the pan and banged it on a plate, sending the eggs cascading down in a yellow flood. Most of them landed on the surface of the plate, but other bounced off and landed on the countertop. For a moment, Harry thought the plate had cracked.

"Fine. I will." With that, Harry spun and marched through the living room. He walked quickly, half-fearing that Eddie would run after him and stop him with pleading and kisses. It had happened before, but this time he didn't want it. He snatched up his knapsack and clothing, grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and yelled the phrase that would take him to Grimmauld Place. Once there, he set the wards to keep out everyone, dropped his clothing onto the floor of the hallway, and made his way to the kitchen. He needed a bracing cup of tea, perhaps laced with brandy.

And then he would go to bed.

While he waited for the tea to steep, he realised he was hungry. His stomach had been rumbling at the smell of the eggs Eddie had been making. His sandwich the night before had barely taken the edge off of his hunger and he thought a couple of sausages might hit the spot. He wandered back down the hall and dropped the borrowed wand he'd been using before rummaging in the knapsack to locate another wand. He'd hidden it to avoid questions.

Once better equipped, he located a large Cumberland sausage in the chiller and sliced off three pan-sized lengths. They were sizzling nicely and he was halfway through his tea when he heard a noise behind him and whirled, wand snapping into his hand and tea sloshing onto the floor.

Draco Malfoy sagged against the doorframe and lowered the wand he'd held pointed at Harry. "Oh, thank Merlin. I don't think I'm in any condition for a fight."

Harry crossed the space between them in moments and slid an arm under Draco's arms to hold him up. He looked terrible. He appeared half-dead and ready to pass out at any moment. His lip was split and crusted with dried blood, one eye was blackened and nearly swollen shut, and his hair was a frightful mess, as though he'd got it wet and not bothered to touch it afterwards.

"Draco! Bloody hell, we've been worried sick about you! Why didn't you let us know where you'd gone? I was half-terrified someone else had killed Crabbe and taken you, although Parkinson was dead certain you'd gone off on your own."

"You were worried sick? Really?" Draco sounded pleased and Harry flushed.

"This is not about your ego. How did you escape Crabbe? And why do I even bother with wards if you and Parkinson can slide through them without a by-your-leave… Never mind. You look like shite. Let's get you upstairs. I have potions."

"I took them all. Are you making sausages?"

Harry glanced back at the skillet, which was beginning to emit distressing steam that threatened to become smoke. "Wait right here." He propped Draco against the doorway and then hurried back to shut off the cooker. He shook the pan to loosen the sausages and then set it aside and went to escort Draco up the stairs. Draco moved as though he had aged by four decades overnight. Harry winced, remembering the lingering ache of the Cruciatus Curse. And there was no telling how many Draco had suffered.

With a jolt of unexpected surprise, Harry discovered the bedcovers rumpled in his own room; obviously, Draco had been sleeping there. "Come on, back to bed with you. I'll bring you some tea and some breakfast. And then we'll work on fixing you up."

"You really are a saint, Harry."

Harry flushed at the sincere-sounding compliment, but he snorted as he pulled back the blankets and helped Draco slide into his bed. For the first time, he noticed that Draco wore nothing but dark pants and a slightly wrinkled button down shirt that looked vaguely familiar. It had probably come from his own closet. He reprimanded himself for thinking that Draco looked fetching in a half-naked state while wearing his clothing. The man was gravely wounded, for pity's sake!

Once Draco was settled, Harry thumped back downstairs and busied himself making more tea, adding sausages to the skillet, and topping them off with scrambled eggs and a generous helping of beans.

Draco had dozed off by the time breakfast was finished cooking, but he roused easily and began to eat whilst Harry went to the washroom and tried to locate suitable potions. There weren't that many useful ones left. Draco really needed to seek medical attention at St Mungo's.

He mentioned it.

"No. I have no way of knowing whom to trust. Someone hired Crabbe and they might have half of St Mungo's on their payroll."

Harry thought it unlikely, but he frowned at Draco's words. "Wait. Someone hired Crabbe? I thought he was working on his own!"

Draco bit into a sausage with straight white teeth and shook his head as he chewed. "No. This goes far beyond petty revenge. Someone wants me gone, permanently, and that someone is very powerful."

"Do you have any idea who it is?"

Draco nodded. "Yes."

Harry waited, but Draco continued to polish off his dinner and did not elaborate. Harry rolled his eyes. "Well? Are you going to tell me who?"

"Not yet. Not until I am more certain. At this point, it's doubtful that you will believe me when I tell you."

Harry scowled, but he looked away. He thought about Eddie and Draco's previous words. _One day you will trust me, and then you will believe me when I tell you things you don't want to hear._ He did want to hear them, and he thought he might trust Draco now, after all they had been through, but when Draco winced and pressed a hand to his jaw, Harry decided now was not the time. Draco was injured and needed to rest and heal.

"Here," Harry said and picked up a jar he'd located in the linen cupboard. "I have some Bruise Balm that should take care of the worst of your bruises. I can pop into St Mungo's for more potions if you tell me what you might need. I see you already took the bone regrowth, although I bloody well don't want to know how many broken bones you might have had."

"Mostly ribs. I think they are healed now, judging by my increased ability to breathe. Thank you for breakfast. This is delicious." With that, he pushed his plate away, still half-eaten, and closed his eyes for a moment.

Harry admired his pale lashes and then took the tray and set it aside. "Sleep now. I'm going to rest in the other room and then I'll go out and get you some potions and some more food. And here, put this on your bruises first." Harry handed him the jar. He would have offered to apply the salve, but at this point he didn't trust himself to touch Draco. He was tired, jittery, and out of sorts; he needed sleep.

"Hey, Potter."

"Yeah?"

"Care to trade wands?" Draco held up the wand he'd been clutching earlier. Harry hadn't got a good look at it during their shambling walk up the stairs. He smiled broadly, seeing it now.

"You kipped my wand back from Crabbe."

"And you stole mine from Shacklebolt."

Harry nodded. "Took it from the Ministry lockup." He handed Draco his wand and took hold of his own before giving it an experimental swish.

Draco placed his wand on the blankets and then yawned hugely. "You know, it's getting hard to tell the difference. Yours works just fine for me."

Harry smiled and realised it was true. "Yeah, yours, too. For me."

"It's a sign. Oi, Potter, send Pans a note and let her know I'm alive. Don't need her killing me the next time I see her." His eyes closed before Harry could ask him "a sign of what" and since he was vaguely nervous about the potential answer, he only agreed and left the room.

Fifteen minutes later, he lay in a bed down the hall, fast asleep.

oOo

Harry awoke a few hours later and rose to check on Draco, who was still out cold, pale hair fanned across the pillow and most of his blankets kicked off. The room had grown warm with the afternoon sun beaming onto the hardwood floor. Harry blinked at the sight and wondered when it had stopped pouring. The weather had been miserable for the past month. He spelled the curtains shut and walked to the bed to cast a quick diagnostic charm on Draco. He'd learned it at St Mungo's after they'd used it on him for the thirty-fifth time. Multi-coloured lights hovered over Draco, pulsing in a reassuring fashion: blue for respiration, red for heartbeat, and green for brain activity. All seemed normal.

Draco didn't stir and Harry cancelled the spell and allowed his gaze to slide over Draco. The shirt was even more rumpled and one side of it had hiked up to expose one hipbone and an expanse of ribs. His skin was pale, like expensive porcelain, and Harry wanted to lean down and touch it, and then possibly follow the line of his hand with his tongue. The strength of his desire was alarming.

Harry backed away and then turned and exited the room at a quick walk. His heart pounded and he leaned against the bannister for a moment before heading down the stairs. What was it about Draco Malfoy? Harry had never been so attracted to Eddie. Not ever. Nor anyone else that he could remember.

He made another cup of tea to steady himself and then checked the time. It was just past three and he should probably go and make sure that Ron was recovering. He supposed he should also go to the Ministry and get started on the paperwork, but he decided the Auror Department could bloody well wait for another day. He wasn't even technically back from leave, despite what everyone seemed to think.

He scrawled a quick note for Draco and stuck it to the mirror in the loo—the most logical place for Draco to wander once he awakened. Then he dressed and headed for the Floo to pay a visit to Ron.

~TBC~

(Sorry for the short chapter, but the next one starts Part Four and I didn't want to break it up.) :D


	14. Chapter 14

**Part Four**

Draco waited until Harry had left, and then he rolled out of bed and waited for his head to stop pounding. The side effects of some of the potions were nearly as bad as the original ailments, except that he would wrestle with a headache over cracked ribs and internal bleeding any day.

He dressed slowly and carefully and then went to make some tea. Despite the fact that he'd only eaten a small breakfast, he wasn't hungry. Thanks to the potions, he felt a bit nauseated, but he knew that would pass.

The tea settled his stomach to some extent and he wandered back upstairs to poke through Harry's closet. Most of his wardrobe should have been burned, but there were a couple of items that weren't heinous. Draco shrugged into a pale green button down and then slipped into a pair of black trousers. They were somewhat too loose, but the length was nice, and a black leather belt found coiled in a drawer kept the trousers from slipping down to an immodest degree.

A spell or two fixed his hair—he was rather horrified by his first glimpse in the mirror—and then he slung a travel cloak over his shoulders and headed for a certain Muggle banking establishment and a lockbox kept therein. An hour after that he was knocking on Seamus Finnigan's door.

Finnigan opened it, looking tired and rumpled. He had a wand in his hand, although he lowered it when he acknowledged Draco with a surprised stare and a wrinkle of his forehead.

"Malfoy. What are you doing here? You looking for Harry?"

Draco shook his head. "No, I'm looking for you. I wasn't sure where else to go and I need to talk. Are you here alone?" He looked over his shoulder as though fearful of pursuit and then swayed and put out a hand to brace it on the doorframe.

Finnigan, a typical Gryffindor, stepped outside to grip Draco's arm. "Merlin, are you all right? We heard you escaped Crabbe, but no one knew where you went! Come inside. And yeah, I'm the only one here." He tugged on Draco's arm whilst pushing the door open and turning away.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Draco pushed his wand against Finnigan's ribs and said, "_Petrificus Totalus_." Finnigan stiffened and would have fallen but for his grip on Draco's arm. Draco broke his hold and then reversed it, taking Finnigan's arm and dragging him down the short hallway into a comfortable but messy room with a sofa half-buried in clothing.

Draco tossed him onto it, bound him with several spells, and then cast _Finite Incantatum_ to cancel the body bind. Finnigan sat up and struggled against his bonds, glaring at Draco through angry eyes. To his credit, he did not demand to know his intentions; he simply waited.

Draco banished some unidentifiable debris from a nearby chair seat and Scourgified it before dragging it closer and sitting down across from Finnigan. "I am afraid that I lied to you, Finnigan. I don't need to talk. _You_ do."

Finnigan stopped struggling and looked at him even more suspiciously. "What about?"

Draco leaned back and tapped his wand against the arm of the chair before looking around the room. "You have a very interesting place here, Finnigan. Charming, or it would be if you had learned the most rudimentary of Cleaning Charms in third year. I hear the Auror Division has one of the highest pay scales in the Ministry, although you certainly wouldn't know it to look at this place. What do you spend your money on?"

Finnigan scrunched up his nose. "That's what you want to talk about? How I spend my money?"

"I'm just curious." Draco gave him a disarming smile.

"I don't. I mean, I buy enough to get by. Food and stuff. Clothing when I need it. Other than that, I don't need much."

"And what do you do with your substantial earnings, then?"

"Put it in Gringotts, like everyone."

"Why? Everyone has vices. Are you sure you don't have a drinking problem? Affinity for gambling? Imbibe some not-quite-legal potions now and again? Visit the Polyjuice pits in Etern Alley?"

"Of course not! Why are you asking?"

"Because when you left Hogwarts you barely had two Galleons to rub together and now your Gringotts account holds a small fortune. Someone at the Ministry sold me out to Vincent Crabbe and I bloody well plan to find out who it was."

"Well, it wasn't me!"

"Convince me. Explain to me that you never took a payoff to sell me down the pitch and make it believable or I'll hit you with something that will make an Entrails Expelling Curse look like a child's playtime charm."

"I never did! I never took a payoff for nothing! I've been saving, damn it! Every knut since I got on with the Aurors! Every spare sickle!" Finnegan's voice had gone high and rather shrieky. "Go and look in my cabinets if you don't believe me! I barely buy food!"

Draco's eyes narrowed and he fingered his wand. "What are you saving for?"

"There's a girl, all right? A pure-blood, like you. She loves me, but her father is a right bastard. She knows he won't hear of it, of us getting married, unless I can provide for her properly. He doesn't care that I'm an Auror. He wants me to be able to buy her jewels and gowns and fancy hats."

Draco rolled his eyes. "She sounds like a real prize."

"It's not like that! She doesn't care about none of that. She wants to run away. Elope. But I know her father will hate us, will hate _her_, if we do that. I don't want to snatch at happiness now only for it to turn to dust later. I don't want to cause trouble with her family, so if I have to save enough to buy her a fucking castle in order to please her father, then so be it." Finnigan had a mad light in his eyes and he seemed to catch himself leaning forwards, half-shouting at Draco. He straightened and looked away.

"Daphne Greengrass."

Finnigan gaped at him. "How—?"

"I know many things, Finnigan. I didn't really suspect you, but I needed to be sure. No hard feelings." Draco cast a spell to release Finnigan's bonds, but he Summoned the Auror's wand before he could snatch it up and fire a spell at Draco. "Stop it. Hexing me will get you back into the trouble you just wriggled out of."

Finnigan sat back on the sofa and massaged his wrists where the bonds had pressed against his skin. He still looked angry, but he asked, "Do you really think someone in the Aurors ratted you out?"

"How many people knew about that safe house?"

Finnigan frowned. "Not many. It's a closely guarded list."

"And yet Crabbe found me there shortly after I set foot in the place. Coincidence?"

"No. Probably not."

"Probably not. I need you to do something for me."

Finnigan shook his head. "I'm not taking payment from _you_, either. I'm a good Auror and I plan to stay that way."

A smile tugged at Draco's lips, despite everything. "This is an actual favour. I just want you to keep an eye on Harry. And I also want you to keep an eye on Harry's boyfriend."

"Eddie Carmichael?"

"Yes. I don't trust him, and yet all of my digging has not turned up anything substantial. I suspect his recent problems with Harry might drive him out of his hole."

"That's…really weird."

Draco paused at his tone. "Why is it weird?"

"Because Harry asked me to do a background search on Eddie a while back. Said he was just checking up. I didn't find anything out of the ordinary. Eddie left Hogwarts and started selling Quidditch supplies. Had a couple of short-term romantic flings. Goes on vacation every year to Amsterdam where he meets up with his old Ravenclaw buddies. They drink too much and pick up unsuitable strangers. Nothing unusual. Are he and Harry having problems?"

Draco could only hope so, but the fact that Harry had turned up at Grimmauld Place looking haggard and irritable was a promising sign. "With any luck. It's good to know Potter doesn't trust him, or at least had enough sense to get you to check up on Eddie. Will you do as I asked?"

"Well, yeah, of course. I'd do it for Harry without you asking."

"The fact remains, however, that I am asking." Draco got to his feet and dropped Finnigan's wand onto the table, within easy reach of Finnigan's hand. To his credit, he didn't try to pick it up. "And you don't need a castle."

He turned and tucked his wand away before heading for the door, trusting that Finnigan's noble Auror morality wouldn't allow him to shoot a hex at his back. "What do you mean?"

As a reward for Finnigan not hexing him, and for giving him the details of Carmichael's background check—even though he'd divulged nothing that Draco hadn't already discovered for himself—Draco turned back with a smirk. "Next time you see Cornelius Greengrass, get him alone and whisper the word 'Ulyanovsk'."

"'Ulyanovsk?' That's it?"

"That's it."

"Why?"

"Trust me." With that, Draco opened the door and went out.

oooOooo

Ron had been released from St Mungo's and was at home recovering, although he was asleep by the time Harry left the hospital and Flooed in to find Hermione reading a book on the sofa. She sat up and gave him a smile.

"How is Ron?"

"Better. He ate half a chicken, a loaf of bread, and three quarters of a pecan tart before going to sleep."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, he'll be fine. That's good."

"You found Malfoy?"

Harry nodded. "How'd you guess?"

"You don't look frantic. And Pansy was here last night when your owl arrived."

He sat down hard in a chair and looked at her. "Pansy. Pansy Parkinson was here. In this room?"

"Well, after you jaunted off to the Ministry she came back to check on Goy—on Christine. We left her sleeping peacefully, by the way, and warded the place. In case you were concerned."

Harry looked away and reflected that Hermione still had a way of making him feel guilty with a single line and the merest tightening of her lips. It was a talent, really. "Thanks. I'll… send her something. A box of…" He was about to say _cake_ when he realised that Gryphon, corseted and bejewelled, probably wouldn't appreciate such a thing the way Gregory Goyle might have done back in Hogwarts, and he amended it to "…tea. Expensive tea."

He risked a glance at Hermione and saw a smile curve her mouth. Brilliant. He had passed. He relaxed into his chair and then remembered her earlier words. "Wait a minute, that doesn't explain why Parkinson was here."

"Well, she looked a fright and was covered in dirt—and worse—and we were both hungry, so I thought it would be nice to let her have a bath and some food. She was rather useful during that whole Rosier situation, and you're getting on well with Malfoy these days…"

Harry held up a hand. "Yeah, okay, I didn't mean to sound accusatory. Better here than at my place." He remembered Parkinson strolling around his house after coming out of his bath. Definitely not an experience he wanted to remember.

Hermione caught his slip. "Your place? You didn't spend the night at Eddie's?"

Harry flushed. Merlin, why did she always notice everything? "I did! But I got up early and went to Grimmauld Place. It was… quieter." He didn't meet her eyes, trying not to remember Eddie's angry words.

"What are you not telling me, Harry?"

He sprawled back into his chair with a heavy sigh and tipped his face up towards the ceiling, closing his eyes to give them a rub with the heels of his palms. "Draco has been telling me for weeks not to trust Eddie." Before she could speak, whether to protest or agree, he added, "And I found something in the flat. Something I can't explain."

He told her about the photos and the clippings, and about Eddie's continuing insistence that he quit the Aurors. And then he groaned and clenched a fist on his thigh. "And then I feel terrible, because Eddie was nearly killed because of me. He has a bloody good reason to hate my job. I feel like a horrible person. I don't know what to do."

"Harry… Pansy told me the same thing. That Eddie was involved in something. She didn't say what."

Harry shook his head. "They don't know. I don't know. Seamus doesn't know. I think we're all chasing smoke and Eddie is completely innocent."

"I'm not so sure."

Hermione's words caused Harry's head to snap up. He stared at her. "What does that mean?"

"After Pansy suggested that Eddie couldn't be trusted, I sent an elf to spy on him this morning. Pearly—she used to be a house-elf for a very abusive family, the Worthingdon's, not sure if you remember them—anyway, she was very grateful to be freed and has been most insistent about helping me ever since." Harry felt a pang, remembering Dobby, and Hermione seemed to pick up on it. She hurried on. "Well, Pearly agreed to keep an eye on Eddie, without being spotted, of course. She followed Eddie from his flat this morning."

"And?"

"He went to the Ministry."

"The Ministry? Why? He never goes there. He detests politics. He won't even go there to pick up permits for his Quidditch supplies. Makes his suppliers do it for him."

Hermione nodded. "I know. I remember that he went on and on about it when he got drunk that one time. What occasion was it? Someone's birthday."

"It was his birthday," Harry said softly. He'd recalled being a bit embarrassed by Eddie's outburst at the time, considering that all of them in attendance had worked for the Ministry. "You're like the Minister's little personal chess pieces," Eddie had said, laughing and making puppet-like gestures. Thankfully, the others had been well into their cups by then and had only shaken their heads and laughed. "Do you suppose he went to the Ministry to look for me?"

"I thought that might be the case, but when Pearly reported to me I popped in to the Ministry and wandered over to the Auror Department. No one there had seen him. I convinced Kay-Kay to come with me to the Welcome Witch and take a look at the log book. It had a record of Eddie's arrival, but it said he'd gone to search for Quidditch regulations in the Hall of Records."

"But?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I went down and there is no mention of him on the sign-in sheet, and Delores doesn't remember seeing him. It's like he went to the Ministry and just vanished."

Harry rubbed his temples. Maybe they were all chasing will-o-wisps. It was possible that Eddie had a valid reason to go to the Ministry and their suspicions were adding ingredients to a potion that would eventually go volatile, even if it was meant to be benign.

"I suppose I should go and talk to Eddie."

"Don't do it alone. Just in case."

Harry pulled a face as he got to his feet. "Now you sound like Draco."

She stood also and walked him to the Floo. "Well, we can't deny one thing. Draco Malfoy has saved all of our lives in the past month. Eddie might be an unknown equation, but Draco isn't. Not anymore."

oOo

Draco was in the kitchen when Harry returned. He looked much better than he had when Harry had left, although he admitted that he was partial to the rumpled version. He supposed it might have been the novelty that was partly responsible. Draco looked up from the teacup he'd been staring into and slid a plate of chocolate biscuits across the table in Harry's direction.

"How is the Weasel?"

"Asleep, but healing." Harry dropped into a chair and picked up a biscuit. The chocolate practically melted on his tongue and the biscuit itself was crisp and light. Draco definitely knew how to eat. "You went out for biscuits?"

"Your kitchen is ridiculously empty. With good reason, I suppose. Dare I ask why you are here instead of your usual haunt? Did Eddie toss you out on your arse?"

"No, he did not _toss me out_. But we did have a fight."

Draco did not even try to hide his pleased look. Harry snorted and ate another biscuit.

"I suspected as much when I discovered this on the table when I returned." He pushed an envelope across the table.

Harry snatched it up and glared at Draco when he saw the broken seal. "You opened it?"

"It might have been something dangerous."

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled out the card. A sad-looking puppy on the front rolled over and looked pathetic, paws curled and belly exposed. Harry sighed. Eddie had always been a fan of the sappier greeting cards. He opened it up to read **I'm Sorry** in block letters, followed by Eddie's familiar scrawl. **_Please come home so that we can talk._**

Harry tossed the card on the table with the envelope and pushed a hand through his hair. He wasn't ready to confront Eddie yet. Not after Hermione's suspicious disclosure.

"You're not going to rush back and make up with Carmichael?"

"Not yet. I'm starting to think we have irreconcilable differences. Especially in regards to my job."

"He was urging you to quit again?"

"Yeah. And the thing is, maybe I don't want to quit. Maybe all this shite you've stirred up recently has made me aware that there are still horrible people out there, people that need to be stopped."

"And maybe you like the chase more than you thought you did."

Harry gave him a sardonic smile. "Yeah. Maybe that. How are you feeling, anyway? Well enough to go and fetch biscuits, apparently."

Draco nodded and then surprised Harry with a yawn that he covered with long fingers. His grey eyes looked startled.

Harry laughed. "And you're obviously still tired."

"Probably a side effect of all the potions. But I could sleep. Do you mind if I stay?"

Harry hadn't even considering turning him out. "Of course you can stay."

"Thank you. I should probably move out of your room, though."

"How did you know it was my room?"

"It smells like you."

A rush of heat flooded Harry's cheeks and he snatched at another biscuit to cover his discomfiture. "Are you hungry? For some real food, I mean. I haven't eaten since breakfast and this," he held up the biscuit, "is not particularly healthy."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Well, it's not Consuelo's cooking, or those fancy restaurants you're used to eating in, but there is a great Japanese take-away place not far from here. Their udon noodles are tasty. Do you like sushi?"

"I do not like take-away sushi." He thought he saw Draco shudder.

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Snob. I'll order you some udon and salmon teriyaki. With miso soup. Trust me." Harry got to his feet and beamed when Draco stuck out his tongue. It seemed so out of place that Harry realised that Draco really wasn't quite himself. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine, Potter. Go fetch your food and I will go and peruse your drink cabinet. I assume you have one?"

"Yeah, although some of that stuff has been in there since the Blacks lived here. I can't vouch for it. Not much of a drinker."

For some reason, Draco's smile looked positively predatory. "That's good."

Harry wasn't sure _what_ was good, but he decided not to ask as he got to his feet. "Be right back."

oooOooo

Draco was tired. Really tired, but he wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to spend time alone with Harry. His rational mind insisted that it was a very bad idea, but his obviously irrational side, the one that had begun to fancy the pants off of Harry (literally) thought it was a very good idea, indeed, and it could only be improved upon by the addition of alcohol, low lighting, and fewer items of clothing.

"Draco," he admonished himself, "think about this for a minute. What are you doing?" He dimmed the lights with a spell and then unbuttoned the top two buttons of the shirt he'd borrowed from Harry. Only two, though, because three would make him look like a cheesy porn star. "I am merely getting comfortable," he replied and ignored the fact that talking aloud to himself could be considered a sign of insanity.

He sprawled on the sofa and spent a few minutes arranging himself in a casual but sexy pose, growling at himself the entire time.

"Merlin, Draco, shut up, how hard is it to seduce one hapless Saviour of the Wizarding World? Especially a Gryffindor one."

"Draco?"

He sat up with a near-gasp and blinked at Harry, who stood in the doorway with two white bags in hand.

"Potter." To Draco's alarm, his voice squeaked as he desperately tried to replay his own words for the past few minutes. He stood up, but Harry had already walked in and deposited his burden on the low table between the two sofas.

"Don't get up. We'll eat here. It's cosier than the kitchen, don't you think?"

"Only Philistines eat in the living room."

"How many Philistines do you know?"

Draco acknowledged that one of the reasons he riled Harry up so frequently was to be rewarded with that sardonic smile and the lift of his dark brow. He had learned to admire Harry Potter after years of observation and a few harder years of growing up, but he hadn't expected to start viewing him through starry eyes. "Only you, Potter."

That earned a chuckle, which was even nicer than the smile, and a murmured, "Shut up. And I thought you were calling me Harry. I'm back to being Potter, now?"

"Old habits die hard, _Harry_." He intentionally put a sultry spin on the name, and was rewarded with a hint of red in Harry's cheeks as he leaned forwards and began to open assorted cartons. Draco was pleased to note that Harry wasn't immune to his charm, but he wasn't sure how to progress without losing his advantage.

Harry Summoned plates and utensils from the kitchen, including several sets of colourful chopsticks. Draco took the green ones without much thought and Harry gave him a look and picked up the blue ones instead of the expected red.

The food was good, for take-away, and Draco expressed enjoyment through making appreciative sounds with the sole intention of hopefully creating bedroom images in Harry's mind. Their elbows brushed as they ate.

"I was going to get some saki, but I don't think alcohol would be good for you on top of all the potions you've had. I see you didn't find much in the cabinet."

In truth, Draco had forgotten about the liquor in his quest to make the environment more seductive. "Thank you for mothering me, Harry."

He flushed and gave Draco a hot look. "I don't mean to—"

Draco put a hand on his arm and leaned forwards to capture his gaze. "No, I'm serious. Thank you. There are not many people left in this world that I can count on. I am glad that you have become one of them."

Harry gaped at him, seeming to have lost the ability to make words. Draco smiled and tightened his grip in a gentle squeeze. Their faces were in close proximity and Draco pressed minutely nearer to see what Harry would do. To his delight, Harry's lashes dipped and his lips parted in evident anticipation of Draco's kiss.

Before their lips could meet, a bang from the kitchen startled them both and Harry pulled away, eyes wide.

A strident voice rang through the house. "Whose bloody brilliant idea was it to park a chair in front of the damned fireplace? Are you trying to kill someone?"

Draco sighed and leaned back into the sofa. "I am thinking about killing someone right now."

Harry exhaled in a nervous-sounding chuckle. "She's your friend."

Draco groaned as Pansy stalked into the room. "Oh posh, you're both dressed. I was hoping to score some blackmail material."

"Remind me to change the wards _again_ to lock her out."

"It won't do you any good, Potter. I'll just break through them."

"Are you here for an actual reason, Pansy?" Draco's tone was edged with just enough annoyance that she would pick up whilst Harry would likely not notice.

"Actually, I am. Oh, potstickers!" She bounced forwards and snatched up a carton. Harry's chopsticks were sticking out of it and she didn't pause as she scooped up a doughy morsel and chewed with a pleased expression.

"Please, help yourself." Harry crossed his arms and scowled at her.

Pansy ate another and then said, "Anyway, I was at the Ministry doing that thing you asked, Draco."

"What thing?" Harry asked.

"And I swung by Potter's office to see if anyone had sent him any recent Howlers or poisoned letters or explosive scrolls. Sheer curiosity, mind you."

"Um… thanks?"

"There were none of those—well, there was one Howler, but it was boring—and this was sitting on the desk." She held up a small brown envelope.

Harry half-rose from the sofa to snatch at it and she handed it over without a fuss. "Hey! The seal is broken! Have either of you ever heard of privacy?"

Pansy shrugged. "I've heard of it. Never much cared for it. What do you suppose he wants?"

Harry shook out the card and then turned it over in his hand. "What does who want? This is blank. Was there another message?"

"Salazar, Potter, no wonder you want to give up the Aurors. You suck at it."

Harry growled at her and Draco took the opportunity to pat him on the knee. "There, there. Ignore Pansy. She's a bit of a rabid nundu when she's hungry. Pansy, stop baiting Harry and explain."

She rolled her eyes and dropped the empty carton onto the table before picking up another—this one Draco's nearly finished noodles—and sprawled into a nearby chair. Instead of explaining, she made an impatient hand wave reminiscent of casting a spell and gestured at the card.

"Oh," said Harry, "right." He pulled out his wand and set to work on the card, finally locating a spell that caused the text to appear. He gave her a smug look. "Wow, he really worked hard on that one."

"Only took me three tries," she said with a cheeky grin and another mouthful of noodles.

Harry stuck his tongue out at her and then skimmed the card. "It's from Liam Nottingham. He wants to meet with you and did not know any other way to reach you. He also says it's important not to tell anyone." He looked up at Pansy and frowned. "That worked out well."

"It wasn't my fault he was too stupid to give it to you in person. What sort of nitwit leaves it on your desk in plain sight? And isn't he the one whose kid was snatched by Greyback?"

"A nitwit who wants complete deniability. Anyone could have left it there as a setup." Draco leaned forwards and took up an edamame pod, splitting it open with a squeeze to extract the green globules within.

"There is a date and time. Two days from now, at a pub in Norwich. I think I know it." Harry's brow wrinkled adorably and his teeth worried at his lower lip.

"Setup," Pansy repeated. "Of course you're not going."

"Of course not." Draco's eyes met Pansy's and hers danced in acknowledgement.

"I don't even know if you're serious. All I know is that it's late and I'm going to bed." Harry tossed the note onto the table and it reverted back to its former blank state. He got to his feet. "Goodnight, Parkinson. You're welcome to stay here, although you don't seem to require my permission."

"Goodnight, Potter." She preened.

"Goodnight, Draco."

"Goodnight, Harry."

"No kiss?" Pansy asked with a pout. Harry's eyes widened and then he shook his head and fled. Pansy giggled and threw Draco a huge grin. "You notice he looked at you and not me?"

"_Goodnight, Pansy_."

~TBC~


	15. Chapter 15

**20th July, 2005 -Wednesday**

Draco rolled out of bed before dawn and slipped out of the house. He was feeling much better after a good night's sleep, and most of the potions had run their courses and taken their wretched side effects with them.

Pansy was not pleased at being awakened at such an early hour, but the promise of hot tea and scones served to silence her complaints. They popped into an out-of-the-way café and got the tea in paper cups and the scones in parchment packets.

Outside of their destination, Draco gulped the last of his still-hot tea and then Vanished the cup. "Pretty standard wards," he commented.

"The arrogant ones always have shite wards. They think their own egos will protect them."

Draco thought her observation was spot-on, for the most part, although there had been exceptions. Not this time, however. A few carefully chosen spells later and the last of the defensive wards surrounding the property fell without a whisper of alarm.

"I'll be right back. Stay alert."

She made a noncommittal noise and slurped at her tea. Draco gripped his wand solidly and headed inside.

Quentin Quartermain was even less pleased than Pansy had been to be awakened before daylight. He sat up with a bluster of nonsense and reached for his wand—which was safely in Draco's robes.

He glared. "What do you want?"

"Quentin! How nice of you to finally wake up. I would make you some tea, but you won't be needing it."

"Get out of my house. Spotty!" Quartermain yelled and swung his legs out of bed.

"Your house-elf won't be coming. I sent him on an errand. A well-paid errand, I assure you." He smirked at that. In support of Granger's pet house-elf freedom bill, the entire Ministry had been forced to free their house-elves. The poor confused things had no idea whom to obey and were easy targets for suggestion. It had made home invasion so much easier for Draco. "Ah ah ah! Stay right there. There is no need for you to trouble yourself by getting out of bed. We can chat right here." Draco had pulled up a chair before awakening Quartermain and he didn't bother to uncross his legs as he lifted his wand.

"Bugger that. I'm getting—"

Draco's Cruciatus sent Quartermain sprawling back into his blankets with a loud shriek. It was impressive enough that Draco wondered if the man had ever suffered a _Crucio_ in his life.

Quartermain scrambled into a sitting position once Draco relented. His eyes and hair had gone wild and his jaw hung slackly until he recovered some semblance of poise. "What the fuck? What do you want?"

It was funny how a little pain could crack through a veneer of entitled snobbery and bring even the mighty down to a more human level.

"I just want to talk, Quentin. Have a little conversation, man to man. I get the impression that you don't like me much."

Quartermain seemed about to speak and then changed his mind. His face pinched as though he held a mouthful of lemons, but the lingering sting of the Cruciatus probably stoppered the vitriol that itched to spew forth.

"I would assume, as the Minister's Undersecretary, that you enjoy your position. I would expect that you prefer not to jeopardise that by behaving stupidly. Apparently, those assumptions are incorrect, are they not?"

"I don't know what you are talking about." Quartermain spoke coldly and although he remained in the bed, he drew his feet up under the blankets and arranged himself in something of a studied pose, attempting to look as in-control as possible.

"It seems a pity that you never married. Most likely you regret that now, or at least wish that you had picked up some foolish political groupie with aspirations of grandeur. You might have been slightly more difficult to catch off-guard with a bed mate present." Draco threw back his head and laughed. "Only joking. It would have been just as simple, since you are not the strongest core in the wand. It would, however, have created a troublesome witness. Tell me, how did you come to be at The Lockbox? The very place I was tucked away _for my own safety_, although we all know how that turned out. What were you doing there?"

Quartermain's jaw sagged and then worked open and closed a couple of times. Draco tapped the end of his wand on his own knuckles, mentally humming the words to a childhood tune in order to calm his growing annoyance. Quartermain stared at the wand and his Adam's apple worked as he swallowed. "How… how did I come to be there?"

"I speak perfectly clearly, Quentin. How. Did you come. To be. There. It's quite simple."

"I… I arrived with the Minister, of course!"

Draco sat forwards and fixed him with a glare as his fingers tightened on his wand. "Incorrect."

"What do you mean? Of course I arrived with—"

"Only a _handful of people_ know its location! Shacklebolt himself gave me the tour when I arrived and you were not there. He looked damned surprised to see you when your unconscious body was dragged in. Don't think I didn't notice that. Even Potter had no idea where it was." Draco was not certain of the last, since Harry had managed to find him, after all, but his purpose was to convince Quartermain to speak.

Quartermain sneered, apparently spurred into outrage that overrode his newfound caution. "Potter! That glorified, reluctant would-be Auror! Of course he didn't know!"

"Potter's earned his glory, which is more than I can say for you. Shacklebolt trusts him implicitly, and yet it seems the _Minister's Undersecretary_ is privy to sensitive information that even Potter doesn't know."

"You cannot believe some fledgling Auror should be given more knowledge than someone so near to the Minister's right hand! I don't care if Potter's earned his glory or not! That whole He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named nonsense was blown completely out of proportion and sensationalised by the press! Who even knows if Potter—"

Draco rose half out of his seat, tempted to hex the bastard into a puddle of unrecognisable slime. The strain of the past few days, combined with blood loss, the aftereffects of torture, and conflicting potions side effects made Draco aware that he was walking the knife-edge of losing control, but at the moment he didn't care. "Blown out of proportion?" he asked softly. "Curious that you should put it that way, considering the Dark Lord never lived _in your house_."

"I can't say I'm surprised at that. Lucius Malfoy was known for welcoming some strange bedfellows." Quartermain's flippant derision was like a slap in the face.

Draco saw red and he nearly leapt from the chair, but he forced himself to remember the purpose of his visit. He relaxed back into his seat on willpower alone and smiled, even though it felt like the false grin on a caricature of death. "My father is not a topic open for discussion. We were talking about how you were made aware of the location of the safe house in Wales."

Quartermain seemed to have recovered his aplomb and he made a sound of disgust. "I told you, Kingsley—"

"—did not tell you. You were not on the list of need-to-know and you had no reason to be there that day unless you were _sent_. Now tell me who gave you that information and why you were there!"

"You are grasping at straws, Malfoy. Your criminal activity has made you paranoid."

Draco counted slowly downwards from ten. "Paranoid? Interesting you should use that word. You see, from the day I walked into the Ministry, you were keen to have me thrown into Azkaban or killed. Since I had no recollection of ever dealing with you before, it made me curious. Why so eager to have me locked away? What were you hiding?"

Quartermain blanched. "They should never have let you out."

"I did some digging, of course. You have quite the sketchy past, don't you, Quentin? Not as platinum-pure as you pretend, by a longshot. Shacklebolt would be rather surprised by several of them, I think."

"Is it blackmail, then? That's why you're here?" Quartermain twitched as though he would leave the bed, but Draco's warning lift of the wand stayed him.

"I have enough information to blackmail you six times over, but what I am here for is the name. Who sent you to Wales and why? Did they expect Crabbe to go mad with bloodlust—which would have been wise considering how things turned out—and become reckless? And why you? I was surprised to see someone so high in the Ministry echelons, I will admit, but your bumbling method of wandering onto the scene told me that you were nothing but a hired lackey. You were paid with a villa in France, I believe?" Draco shook his head and clucked his tongue. "You probably should have done a bit more research before accepting that bribe. It's not in the best location."

Quartermain paled and pulled at the collar of his sleeping robe. He focussed on a point over Draco's shoulder. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then allow me to jar your memory. _Crucio_!"

Quartermain screamed and twisted. It was rather satisfying to see the man's torment when Draco thought back to the pain he'd suffered at Crabbe's hands, but he hadn't come for petty revenge. When Quartermain reached the incoherent stage, Draco relented and got to his feet to approach the bed.

"Give me the name."

"I don't know! I don't know!" Quartermain no longer looked arrogant. His nose dripped snot and he sobbed in great gulps of air as he strove to right himself on the mangled bed. Half of the blankets had tumbled to the floor with the pillows. Quartermain's eyes were red and weeping.

"You don't know the name? I find that hard to believe. Perhaps I need to jar your memory again."

"No!" Quartermain lifted a hand as if to ward off the anticipated spell. "No! I don't have a name. It was a note! Always an anonymous note! This one had the address in Wales and instructed me only to 'Make certain Crabbe does his job.' I don't even know what it meant!"

"Oh, you know what it meant."

"I know that they—whomever _they_ are—want you silenced. They want you stopped."

"Yes, we already had a nice chat whilst I was tied up and being tortured. However, that notion seems to have backfired. I have no intention of being silenced." Draco frowned, realising that Quartermain was a useless dead end, just another tool in the large arsenal of his nebulous enemy.

Quartermain seemed aware of what he had revealed. He wiped his nose on the shaking sleeve of one arm. "What…what do you plan to do now?"

Draco sighed. "Obliviation is such an inexact magic. I hope I don't accidentally remove _all_ of your memories. That would be a pity, now wouldn't it? You might not even recall the location of your new French villa."

"Ob…obliviation?"

Draco gave him a nasty smile as he lifted his wand. "Not really. This is for my parents, you son of a bitch. _Avada Kedavra_."

The green jet slammed into Quartermain and Draco turned, feeling no satisfaction but only a growing sense of despair. Even revenge had grown pointless and unsatisfying. He couldn't bring back his parents or Blaise, and he'd grown to learn that trying to wipe the slate simply left other marks behind.

He walked outside and accepted Pansy's embrace. She always seemed to know when he needed comfort. "It's done," he said. "Can you call Christine and have her take care of this? I'll owe her a bloody new wardrobe for this one, so feel free to take her shopping after."

Pansy pulled away with an avaricious glint in her eyes. "Shopping?"

"_You_ cannot have a new wardrobe. But get yourself something nice." Draco watched as she smirked and turned to skip towards the house he'd just left. "Within reason!" he yelled.

"Of course, darling!" She disappeared inside and Draco Disapparated to seek out his next unsuspecting appointment.

oooOooo

Harry woke to find the house empty, which seemed bizarre. He didn't expect either Parkinson or Draco to be morning people, and yet they were already gone despite the early hour. There was no note and he tried not to be alarmed, wondering where they had gone. He wasn't Draco's keeper, after all, and the man was obviously quite good at taking care of himself.

He debated going to the Ministry, but instead knew he had to take care of his own personal business. He had put it off long enough and waiting any longer would only make things more difficult.

Even with his decision made, he managed to procrastinate for a couple of hours by cooking and eating breakfast, tidying up the kitchen, and combing through his wardrobe for things he didn't wear anymore. He sent off the last items to a charity that Mrs Weasley was fond of, and then he showered and dressed. After finally succumbing to guilt, he took the Floo to Eddie's flat.

As he'd hoped, by then Eddie was gone.

He walked into his room and looked around. With a start, he realised that he didn't have many personal effects at all. He had moved his belongings in, yes, but not all of them. There were no pictures, no bric-a-brac, and no personal items other than a stack of books he'd promised Hermione that he'd read (and hadn't) and the figurine of Mercury Horowitz in the living room where he'd dropped her after the search for Draco. Harry had a few drawers full of clothing and some toiletries in the bathroom, but even the kitchen disclosed few things that belonged to him: his favourite mug, a wrought-iron wine rack that Eddie had given him as a gift, and a ceramic bowl shaped like a pig into which he liked to toss his spare change and random things from his pockets. It currently held four knuts and two silver sickles, plus a tag reminding him to pick up his spare Auror robes from the cleaners, and a black button that he'd found on the floor several weeks ago that seemed to have no home.

Harry picked up the button and looked at it with a frown. He'd stumbled on it in the bathroom and had tried to match it to several items of clothing without success. It had a bright finish, with a darker black edge. Harry knew none of his clothes had similar buttons, and he hadn't noticed any of Eddie's with anything comparable.

Impulsively, he took the button and marched into Eddie's room. Feeling like he'd acquired an important clue, he rapidly flicked through each of Eddie's hanging garments. Shirt after shirt, robe after robe; none of them had related buttons. Neither did his waistcoats or tunics. A quick search of Eddie's drawers turned up the same results. The button was an anomaly.

He sat down on Eddie's bed and tried to remember when he'd found it. Before Draco, but how long before? Sometime in May, surely. Just after he'd been gone for four days on that unicorn blood case with Ron. Yes, that was it. Funny how the mind remembered certain random things. He'd been knackered and irritated on his return, and the feeling had been exacerbated by Eddie acting like everything was rosy when it was obvious he was angry, and then Harry had stepped on a button on his way to the shower… It had seemed like a bad sign at the time, although of what he couldn't decide.

Now, though… He clutched the button in his fist. Perhaps it _was_ a sign. Had Eddie been cheating on him whilst he'd been away? Had Harry meant anything to him at all, or had he merely been spying on him, keeping tabs for someone at the Ministry with unknown motives? Was that why he'd never pushed Harry to have sex with him? Had he been role-playing the entire time? Had he ever cared at all?

Harry pushed away from the bed, remembering Draco kissing him, because he had _wanted to_. Merlin, it all seemed so clear now. Last night, Harry had wanted Draco to kiss him. He had wanted it quite badly. And he supposed it was time he stopped putting other's needs before his own.

Draco would approve, he suspected.

Forty-five minutes later, Harry Apparated home, to Grimmauld Place.

oooOooo

Draco stepped out of the Floo with little more on his mind than the hope of seeking out a strong drink and a soft bed. Harry Potter's stormy expression quelled his anticipation of both, at least for the near future.

"Dare I ask what you are upset about?" Draco brushed the powder from his sleeve and thought momentarily about creating Floo-powder resistant fabric, and basking in the riches such an invention would bring him.

"Where have you been?" Harry demanded.

Draco lifted a brow at him. "Forgive me, darling. I didn't realise I was required to check in."

To his credit, Harry flushed and turned away. "Merlin, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Of course you aren't—" He Summoned a teacup with a flick of his hand, probably not even realising he'd done it wandlessly. "I broke up with Eddie."

Draco could not remember the last time he'd been rendered speechless. Normally, he could dredge up words, whether weapons or defensive barbs, at the flash of a Snitch's wing, but he found himself staring at Harry with little more than a strange buzzing sound wafting through his brain.

"I moved out of his place. Kind of cowardly, I admit, as he wasn't home at the time and I left him a note." Harry pushed the cup aside and rested his hands on the countertop. "Bloody hell, that was horrible. I am a complete asshat."

After another three heartbeats, Draco recognised the buzzing sound as cheering. Harry had left Eddie Carmichael. Two heartbeats after that, of course, his intelligence caught up to his libido and he dragged out a chair to catch his arse before he fell down.

"You left him. Of course you did." The bemused sound struck a chord and Draco chuckled. Harry's confused stare broke the floodgates and he began to laugh in earnest. "Merlin, of course you did." Sardonic hopelessness warred with true glee and he could not have suppressed his laughter if he'd been dependent upon it for oxygen. Harry's flashing green eyes only made it worse and Draco had to look away.

"What is so bloody hilarious, you absolute prat?"

Draco couldn't look at him. He couldn't, or he would be laughing for days. Instead, he curled into himself and buried his head in his hands, trying to restrain his chuckles.

"Harry. _Harry_. If only… If only you knew what I've been through today."

The chair next to him dragged on the wooden floor with a squeal and he focussed on Harry's feet as he sat down next to him. His voice was soft. "Then tell me."

Humour effectively quenched, Draco looked at him. As usual, his green eyes were ridiculously huge through the lenses of his spectacles and Draco found that he wanted nothing more than to drown in them. How easy it would be to place his troubles on Harry's competent shoulders and let someone else take them on, for a change. For a timeless moment or two, it was tempting, but Draco had spent the past five years making himself dependent upon no one for a reason. He stuffed temptation back into the dark cupboard where it belonged and took up his own burden.

"Sometimes I can almost convince myself that you are not real," he said.

Harry's brow wrinkled at his words and then he shook his head and straightened. "You are the most perplexing person alive."

Draco managed a smile. "I know. Salazar, is there food? I haven't eaten all day."

Harry shot to his feet. "All day? What the hell, Draco, can't you even take care of yourself?" He stomped off to the pantry and began to pull out all manner of foodstuffs. Draco could only watch him with a fondness that bordered on something dangerous, something he hadn't felt in a long, long while. At the moment, he didn't even care to rein it in. "What do you want? I have bread, of course, and potatoes, and some weird rice that Hermione bought—how do you even cook rice—and this box of… What is this? Never mind. I have sausages and potatoes… some seasoning. Spaghetti and soy sauce, okay, no, that sounds terrible. Um, let's go back to the sausages and potatoes idea. And I still have eggs. You know, I could go and fetch take away…"

"Sausages and potatoes sounds lovely, Harry." Draco smiled at his suspicious look and he was pleased when Harry's expression softened into a sheepish grin.

"All right, then. I'll just put this together if you'd like to freshen up or whatnot."

"Brilliant." Draco pushed himself to his feet and headed for the door, but then he detoured and leaned against Harry for a moment, and touched his forehead to Harry's unruly mop of hair. He inhaled his delicious scent for a moment and ignored the surprised intake of breath. "Thank you. I'll be back shortly."

He went upstairs to shower and wash away the taint that had surrounded him the entire day. By the end of his toilette, he felt almost human again, and even managed a familiar smirk as he traipsed back downstairs wrapped in one of Harry's thick dressing gowns.

Harry was sat at the table and he looked at Draco without expression for a moment, although his eyes travelled from Draco's head to his bare feet and back up again before he spoke. "Um. It's ready. You take really long showers."

"I had a really long day. Thank you for dinner." Draco sat down and cancelled the Warming Charm on the plate. A delicious smell wafted up and he realised that he was ravenous. He ate carefully, trying not to bolt his food like a hungry wolf.

"Would you like some juice or tea? Wine?"

"A glass of water would be brilliant. And some Firewhiskey."

Harry nodded and padded around, fetching Draco some water and then leaving for a minute or two to pour some alcohol from the bar in the other room. He returned with two old-fashioned glasses, each quarter-filled with amber liquid. He placed one before Draco and sat down with the other.

"Why were you laughing when I told you I've left Eddie? You're not pleased?"

Draco chewed a mouthful and then drank a few gulps of water before wiping his mouth on his napkin. "Pleased. You've no idea how pleased I am. I am bloody ecstatic." He smiled. "It is only the timing that leaves something to be desired. But let us drink to no more Eddie." Draco lifted his whiskey glass and hoped the words were prophetic. Perhaps Eddie Carmichael would simply go away, although the odds of that happening were slim.

Harry hesitated and then clinked his glass gently against Draco's. They both drank and then Harry asked, "Why is the timing bad? What did you do today?"

Draco took a last bite of potato and then pushed his plate away. The meal had been simple, but satisfying, with just the right blend of seasonings. Apparently Harry had hidden talents.

Draco got to his feet and sent the plate and utensils into the sink with a flick of his wand. "Let me wash up for you."

Harry was on his feet and clutching Draco's arm. "No. Leave it for morning. You look exhausted. Let's go sit down and finish our drinks. Maybe talk about something non-life-threatening. Like…bird watching. Have you ever been bird watching?"

Draco snorted, but allowed Harry to tug him towards the next room. "Not unless they were owls and I was awaiting sweets from my mum." He winced at the memory. "But let me go upstairs and put on something a bit warmer. I'll be right back." Truthfully, he didn't trust himself to be so near to Harry clad only in a bath robe.

He fled upstairs and threw on a pair of trousers and a shirt, and then trotted back down to find Harry rubbing his hands before a crackling fire. "This should help warm you," Harry said. Draco smiled his thanks and sat down on the sofa. Harry Summoned two previously-prepared drinks and handed one to Draco as he dropped onto the cushions next to him. Harry kicked off his shoes and curled his feet under himself, leaning on the back of the couch and twisting so that he faced Draco. It was vaguely disconcerting, mainly because Draco wondered how he was meant to stop from kissing him in this position.

He took a gulp of his Firewhiskey and prayed for strength.

~TBC~


	16. Chapter 16

Harry smiled at Draco's reply. He felt drunk already, despite the fact that he'd only had three sips of alcohol. It was probably nothing more than euphoria caused by having finally made a decision, and one that felt very right.

He also fully intended to get Draco Malfoy into bed. Perhaps his biggest epiphany had been the realisation that although he had reluctantly dragged out his decision to sleep with Eddie for months on end, he felt no such hesitation in regards to Draco. In fact, he was finding it bloody difficult to keep his hands to himself and had to hold tightly to his glass to keep from reaching out now.

"You were such a prat in school." He winced as soon as the words left his mouth. Antagonism was hardly the smartest path to choose if he wanted the road to lead to the bedroom.

To his surprise, Draco only chuckled. "Wasn't I? Merlin, the things I did. No wonder you despised me. Although I am still rather pleased with the 'Potter stinks' badges. I worked my arse off to perfect that spell."

"You were definitely no slouch in the magic department." Even at the time, Harry had been impressed by Draco's ability to repair the Vanishing Cabinet. If he had been pressured to do the same at that age, he doubted he'd have managed it. Not without Hermione's help. And Draco had been without Harry's support system. Crabbe and Goyle had to have been pretty useless.

"I was taught at a very early age. The statute for underaged magic is seldom enforced in magical households. My father would have given them the what for if they'd have even tried to curtail my lessons." Draco wrinkled his nose. "Funny how I used to worship him as a youngster. I was always so impressed at his arrogance, and thought it was brilliant to emulate his sense of superiority. I expected it was the thing to do, to treat others with contempt and rudeness, as though they were little more than ants to step on, unless they had some useful function."

"I remember," Harry said wryly. "But you don't think that way now." He thought about the way Draco had behaved with Agatha, the woman diluting Pepper-up in her kitchen after losing her only son in the war, and Consuelo, the forger that made tapas to die for. The old Draco would never have deigned to speak to them, much less treat them with kind fondness. "What changed your mind?"

Draco looked at him sidelong and then took a drink of his whiskey. It left his lips wet and his tongue flicked out to take in a lingering drop. Harry swallowed hard. "I suppose you did, in a roundabout way."

"Me?"

"Yes. I know you wondered why I sought you out at the Ministry, why I refused to work with anyone but you. I was reluctant to admit that you are the sole reason for my…reformation, I suppose you can say."

Harry smiled at that, wondering how far Draco had actually reformed. So far, his illegal activities seemed to have been little diminished, although none of them appeared to be particularly dangerous. He hoped.

"I hated you after the war, you know. Even more than before and during the war, if you can believe that. I blamed you for nearly every terrible thing in my life, foolishly rationalising that if you'd never existed, then that whole mess with the Dark Lord would never have happened. Voldemort—" he shuddered even as he spat the name "would never have been defeated the first time and he would have risen to power, rid the world of Muggles, and set my father up as a great power. It would have been glorious. Or so I told myself during my darkest moments. I was foolish." Draco drank the last of his whiskey and grimaced. "The war should have brought me wisdom. Instead, it took utter devastation before I could begin to see things the way they truly are."

Harry took his glass and got up to pour another three fingers of Firewhiskey. He wasn't certain that he wanted Draco to get drunk, but he seemed to need the relaxing power of alcohol tonight. There was a darkness about him that Harry wasn't sure how to combat. Something had happened, and if it took Firewhiskey to loosen his usual tight bonds of self-control, then so be it. Harry hoped that Draco would let him in, if only a little. It might be a start.

He returned with the glass and regained his position as Draco took another drink. "Tell me," he said.

Draco sighed and stretched his legs out before leaning his head against the back of the couch. He shut his eyes. "We went back to the Manor after the war, of course, and tried to carry on as best we could. The Manor was a wreck and Mother threw herself into restoring it. Looking back, I am certain it was less a restoration than a purge. She was hoping to eliminate every tainted memory of those who had crawled sickeningly through the halls she loved. My father barely bothered. He locked himself away and spent hours poring over his papers. And drinking." Draco lifted his glass as though in silent, sardonic tribute, and took another sip.

"There were threats, of course, from every quarter. Former Death Eaters hated us for escaping Azkaban with a tap on the wrist—thank you for that, by the way, since those words cannot be repeated enough—and people who fought on the side of light felt the same. The ranks of the forgiving were small and voiceless, while those with long memories for hatred were plentiful. My parents bolstered the wards and hid away from the world. I was angry and grew angrier and more resentful at the enforced containment. I was young. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to dance and drink and stay out all night at elaborate parties. "

"Understandable," Harry murmured, although he felt a pang at not really understanding at all. He would have given nearly anything to hide away after the war. Instead, he'd been thrown into the spotlight time and again, with every move he made subject to scrutiny and speculation. He had wanted nothing more than privacy and Draco had wanted the opposite. It was odd how things worked out.

"Who knows what might have happened? I might have fed upon my resentment until I turned into someone like Crabbe, full of festering hate and wanting only to lash out, feeling that the world owed me for everything that I had lost. My self-absorption was all-encompassing. I could barely see what was happening to my parents."

Draco's hand tightened on the glass and he paused. Harry nearly reached out and asked him not to continue, that it wasn't necessary to open old wounds for the sake of curiosity, but then Draco spoke again.

"My father locked himself away and wouldn't come out, demanding nothing more than a steady flow of gin and an occasional ear to rant to. My mother stopped caring about the house and instead remained in her rooms, writing. She was always writing. I regret that I was so self-focussed that I can't recall ever asking what she was writing about. I have no idea whether it was a history of her life, ledgers full of poetry, or the demented scratchings of a madwoman. I didn't care. I only wanted her to stop, and I wanted Father to get the hell out of his study and bring our lives back to what they had once been. All I could feel was anger. To keep from lashing out, I went on frequent walks, striding across the estate until my legs burned and my lungs ached. I suppose it was a minor form of self-flagellation, which is laughable until you take into account the spoiled nature of my upbringing. I felt those walks were harsh punishment, indeed."

Draco's lips quirked in a self-deprecating fashion and Harry realised with a start that he could hardly see any of the pampered child in the man he'd become.

"One afternoon I walked for hours. I was determined, at first, to walk to the ends of the earth and never return, but after a time I became distracted. I remember it was a beautiful day, late spring, and the temperature was absolutely perfect. My mother should have been in the garden on such a day, tending to her roses and gladiolas. She always…wore hats."

His voice broke and Harry reached out to put a hand on his arm. Draco didn't seem to notice.

"I remember thinking it would be nice to see her wear a hat again, and go out to the garden. Maybe I didn't really think that and it's only maturity painting a less selfish tint on my former self. It doesn't matter. As I turned to go back home that afternoon I saw a strange spiral of black smoke in the air. I'd never seen the like before and knew it wasn't Muggle farmers burning crops. At first I was annoyed, thinking that my father was out doing something stupid, but almost as soon as that idea came and went I began to panic. There was…a lot of smoke. Too much. I started to run."

Harry's hand tightened and he leaned closer. He already knew what Draco had found at home. He'd read the reports, but hearing it first hand, knowing the anguish that young Draco had been about to encounter made him sick to his stomach when he remembered his own first reaction at the news.

"Of course it was too late by the time I got there. The Manor was in flames. I tried to get inside, but the heat was too intense. I raced around the house, screaming and trying vainly to put it out with my wand. My best efforts produced nothing but steam. I found Mother in the garden. Somehow she'd made it out of the house, horribly burned. One half of her face was—" Draco broke off and drew in a careful, slow breath. "She was alive, but only just. I remember holding her and the sunlight…it shone on her hair so brilliantly."

Harry could scarcely breathe. His throat ached and his eyes stung. He swallowed hard. "Draco—"

"She died in my arms. Right there on that perfect day, surrounded by the garden she'd once loved." His tone was soft, giving no hint of the heartbreak the words must have conjured, the wound opened afresh. Harry could think of nothing to say. There was nothing that could ever ease the pain of such a thing, no words that could ever make it right. Draco took another drink, using his other hand to avoid dislodging Harry's grip.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, finally locating the trite words that people always spoke when they knew their words were no solace at all.

Draco exhaled, a soft sound that might have been an attempt at humour. "By all rights, I should have become even angrier. My petulant, cooped-up, adolescent rage was a child's tantrum compared to the white-hot fury that I felt that day. I knew that _they_ had come. _They_ had murdered my family and torched my ancestral home. _They_ would have killed me, too, if I had been home. I had no idea who _they_ were, but I vowed to learn. I promised on the remains of everything I loved that I would hunt them all down and make them pay."

"And did you?" Harry's voice was barely audible. He was almost afraid to learn the answer to his question, and half-hoped that Draco would ignore it.

"Not for a long time. I was no match for them. I knew nothing at the time, not even who they were or how to find them. I'd grown up sheltered, spoilt, wanting for nothing, and suddenly I had no family, no home, and not even a single house-elf. They had all vanished with the house.

"I went to Pansy, of course, and Blaise. Once I could function again, I learned. I soaked up information like a starving man sops up gravy. I found out everything I could about everyone I thought might be even vaguely guilty of destroying my life. I learned their habits, their methods, their preferences, and their weaknesses. I knew their friends, their loved ones, their mistresses, and their enemies. I learned to remember everything. Names, faces, connections, patterns. I could meet a man and instantly recall his wife, his in-laws, his cousins, his uncles and step-cousins and aunties twice removed. I knew his business and his bank balance, and all of the wicked little habits he tried to hide away from the world. I became an information broker, of sorts, trading knowledge for power. And then I went hunting."

Harry took his hand away from Draco's arm with a start, suddenly remembering that he was an Auror, albeit on leave, and that Draco was still a criminal with a past that no one had ever been able to piece together. "I don't want—" Harry took a deep breath and tried again, meeting Draco's eyes steadily. "I don't want you to tell me anything that will incriminate you."

Draco's stare was so intense that Harry thought he might drown in grey. "Harry Potter. Do you know that you were once on my list? Rather high, actually. I entertained the notion that you might have gone power-mad. It took quite some time for me to accept the idea that I was not the centre of the universe, you see, and even longer to get past the notion that I was not the centre of _your_ universe." Draco smiled and before Harry could reply, he continued, "Therefore, I began to study you."

Harry blinked at him. "You studied—"

"I suppose you would call it _spying_. Granger certainly would, especially if she had any idea of the depths to which I've gone—but I digress. I studied you for years, attempting to accumulate all manner of nefarious materials with which to crush you."

Harry was bizarrely torn between feeling affronted and pleased. "And did you find such material?"

Draco sighed and looked away. He drained his glass again and then leant forwards to place it on the table before regaining his relaxed position. "Sadly not. You are pathetically lacking in vices, Potter. You do not drink to excess, you do not smoke, you have no hidden potion addictions or strange sexual fetishes; you exercise regularly and wake up ridiculously early. You have a slight preference for sugary and fatty foods, but you balance that by frequently forgetting to eat. You really are the Golden Boy."

"I am not!" Affronted won and Harry puffed up to protest his lack of wholesomeness.

"Please, Harry, you don't even snore."

"I—How do you know that?"

"Frankly, I'd had great hopes for a scandal when I discovered you preferred the phallus-endowed portion of the population, but shortly thereafter you came out with scarcely a whisper of protest and then moved in with someone as outwardly blemish-free as yourself. I despaired."

"Outwardly?" Harry chose to focus on the veiled slur against Eddie than on the fallacy that his coming-out had been easy. The press had nearly destroyed him with their slurs and speculation.

"I finally had to admit that you were practically perfect."

Harry blinked at him. "Practically."

"Indeed. You do have one rather alarming weakness. Your ridiculous need to throw yourself into danger. I found myself taking action a time or two in order to waylay your need for self-sacrifice."

"Are you saying you protected me?"

"On occasion. At first I was not even certain of my motives. Blaise thought I was insane. Pansy told me I was obsessed."

Harry didn't know what to think. He tried to remember a time when a case had gone too smoothly, or when clues fit together too easily, or appeared out of nowhere. "How long?"

Draco shrugged.

"Why did you decide to come to the Ministry? If you'd been helping me all along, why open yourself up to danger? You were nearly killed!"

"Because I'm tired. I don't want to do this anymore. I'm sick of being hunted, tired of being used. I hate looking for ulterior motives in every greeting and wondering if the next hand I shake will be the one that stabs a knife into my back. I want to remove the final few murderous cretins currently keeping me from my goal and then I want to disappear."

"Disappear?"

He nodded. "Secure in the knowledge that I will be relatively safe from revenge-seekers. I have found the criminal life to be…unsatisfying, of late. Or perhaps I just want something more now."

"And what is that?" Harry asked, trying to mask the spike of panic he felt at the thought of Draco _disappearing_.

"Peace. I have had enough of blood and death and torture. I want to sit on a beach somewhere with a glass of wine and a good novel and not have to look over my shoulder for some arsehole with a grudge."

"A beach."

Something in his voice caused Draco to turn to him with a gentle smile. "Harry—"

Harry kissed him. Rational thought had deserted him and Draco's heart wrenching tale, combined with his anxiety over the thought of Draco leaving, had triggered Harry's impulsive instincts. Draco's lips were soft and warm and after a slight intake of breath, he was still. Harry pressed harder, not quite feeling encouraged, but at least Draco hadn't pushed him away. And he didn't think he'd imagined Draco's words the previous night, when he'd come back with takeaway. He was certain he'd heard Draco mention something about '"seducing the Saviour" or some such thing.

He placed one hand on Draco's chest and let his fingers splay open. Merlin, he'd never wanted anyone so badly. To his delight, Draco finally responded. Long fingers twisted in his hair and pulled him closer. Harry discovered that Draco's previous kisses had been nothing but playful teases compared to the one laid upon him now. His tongue played at Harry's lips and Harry eagerly let him in. His senses thrummed at the taste and feel of Draco and it was so much better than anything he'd imagined, especially when coupled with the fact that Harry was half-draped over him, pushing closer as if he wanted to crawl into Draco's skin and take up residence.

Draco pulled away and Harry made a noise of protest. His fingers curled in Draco's shirt. "Harry. Are you sure about this?"

Harry planted kisses on his mouth, over and over, and finally took Draco's lower lip in a gentle bite before sucking on it. The action earned a groan from Draco and a shift in his position that pulled Harry more firmly against him.

"So sure," he growled and then dove back in, tasting Draco more firmly and exploring his mouth until they were both gasping. They kissed for so long that Harry's jaw began to ache and his mouth felt raw and bruised. Even then he didn't want to stop. Draco was an amazing kisser. Harry's glasses had fogged up, skewed sideways, until finally he had yanked them off to toss them somewhere on the end of the couch.

"Upstairs," he suggested while pausing for some much-needed air.

"Salazar, yes, I don't think I could take another interruption from Pansy or one of your friends."

Harry didn't bother to mention that such an eventuality was impossible, since he'd blocked the Floo and strengthened the wards against all forms of intrusion, bar one. An emergency Patronus could still get through, but Harry hoped beyond hope that such a thing wouldn't be necessary. He wanted this. He wanted Draco.

He tugged him up from the sofa and headed for the stairs. There was no dragging involved; Draco matched him step for step until they were practically racing up the stairs. By the time they reached the top they were both laughing. Harry hadn't expected to find the low rumble of Draco's laugh to be such a turn-on, but at this point he supposed just about anything Draco did would only increase the tightly-wound tension of his libido.

Draco stopped him at the doorway and spun him around to kiss him again. The door frame dug into Harry's shoulders and buttocks, but Draco felt so nice against him that Harry could only pull him closer.

"How did you arrive at this monumental decision, Harry?" Draco asked after a moment.

"It isn't that monumental. It's only sex." He tried to sound nonchalant, but to his surprise, Draco pulled away, looking stung.

Before Harry could determine what he'd said wrong, Draco's expression softened and he smiled. "I suppose it is."

Despite the fact that the statement validated his own words, Harry felt a surge of disappointment. He tried to ignore it as he forced a return smile. "Are you going to let us into the bedroom anytime soon?"

Draco's grin widened and he pushed away before curling a fist into the front of Harry's shirt and tugging him into the room. "Behold the bedroom. I think it's time this came off." He gave the shirt a yank and then let go, but Harry crowded into him and pushed him up against the bedpost.

"Actually, I think it's time _this_ came off." He nuzzled Draco's neck whilst his fingers sought out the buttons of Draco's stiff shirt. "How can you wear this much starch? It has all the give of a cardboard box."

"Some of us prefer _not_ to look as though we located our clothing somewhere in a rubbish bin off Knockturn Alley, even if it means sacrificing comfort."

"God, you're sexy when you use that snobbish tone of voice. Why does it turn me on when you're being an arse?" He nipped at Draco's jaw and pushed his hands into the open shirt to feel his ribs. Draco's sharp inhalation of breath felt like a victory.

"Perhaps, because—" Draco's words were cut off by Harry's kiss. He chuckled at having found an effective way to shut him up. It turned into something of a game when Draco continued to try to speak. Harry couldn't contain his laughter and the resulting jumble of unintelligible sounds soon had them both giggling like idiots.

Harry pulled away and leaned back to take him in. Draco's eyes were dark and sparkling with merriment. His lips were parted and wet and he looked so bloody gorgeous with his shirt open that Harry's breath caught in his throat at the knowledge that the beautiful, funny, enigmatic man before him wanted him just as badly. It was sobering. Before he could do anything foolishly sentimental, Draco yanked the t-shirt out of Harry's jeans and then pulled it off over his head in a rush of motion.

"Who knew that your hair could get even worse?"

The words dashed Harry's momentary lapse into seriousness and he growled and pushed Draco away from the bedpost before shoving him back onto the bed and climbing atop him. "Oh really? Well, what do you think of this, Mr Perfect Hair?" He rubbed his hands through Draco's soft locks, mussing it rudely whilst fending off Draco's hands and ignoring his outraged protests. "Oh, Merlin, isn't it shocking? You _can_ look something less than _pristine_!"

"Potter! Stop this at once! And get off of me, you giant oaf!"

Harry stopped wrecking his hair and switched his position. "Do you really want me to get off?" He lined up his erection with Draco's and ground his hips forwards. Both of them were only partially erect, but it still felt delicious and his groan was answered by Draco's.

"Perhaps not, but only if there are fewer layers of clothing between?"

"Great idea," Harry said and kissed him again. That occupied them for much longer than it should have. Harry couldn't seem to get enough of kissing him and Draco didn't seem to have a problem with it. Finally, however, Harry became conscious that his erection had grown painful and the friction of trousers and jeans between them was not at all satisfying. "Clothes off," he murmured.

"Please, yes."

Harry pushed away with effort and paused for a moment to enjoy the sight of Draco Malfoy looking thoroughly dishevelled—hair a mess, lips red, eyes half-lidded, shirt open…and trousers bulging attractively in a way that demanded unwrapping. Harry reached for the fancy, old-fashioned silken lacing on the trousers Draco wore.

"You wear these intentionally to make people want to unlace you, yeah?"

Draco sniffed. "Hardly. I haven't even got started on your hideous wardrobe. You would do well to accompany me to a proper fitting—oh dear Salazar." Draco's patrician babble was cut off abruptly when Harry reached in and wrapped a hand around his cock. As Harry had suspected, Draco wore no undergarments. He had examined Draco's arse enough times to have become certain of it.

"Brilliant. That's two ways I've found to shut you up." Harry smirked at him.

Draco pulled a face at him and then smiled. "I won't disagree with your methods. And now you've got it, what do you plan to do with it?"

Harry made a humming sound and let go long enough to remove Draco's trousers completely. Draco hadn't bothered to put on socks or shoes, which made the trouser extraction much simpler. The shirt he left on. He shucked his own jeans and briefs while he was at it. With the necessary mechanics out of the way, Harry settled himself between Draco's legs, met his eyes for an instant with a wicked smirk, and took as much of Draco's cock into his mouth as he could manage. It felt amazing, and Draco's reaction—head thrown back and hoarse, wordless cry spewing from his lips—made him feel accomplished. Tossing caution to the wind, he took it even deeper, mentally willing himself to repress his gag reflex.

It didn't work. He backed nearly off of Draco's cock with an inelegant choking sound and a dry heave. Draco put a hand in his hair and lifted his head to give him an indulgent smile.

"Harry, you have nothing to prove to me. I am already impressed, remember?"

Harry flushed and nearly voiced a denial, but Draco's words left him with a rush of warmth anyway, so he said nothing and sucked down Draco's cock again, moving more slowly this time and working his tongue along the length as he did so.

Draco let out a slow, almost-tortured sounding breath. "Merlin, never mind. If you are intent upon earning the title of Boy Who Sucked the Best, then by all means, do continue—_bloody hell_, that feels amazing."

Harry had performed a couple of blowjobs in the past and had felt horribly amateurish and awkward. He also hadn't much cared for it. But this, because it was _Draco_, who smelled and tasted and felt incredible, and who was normally so unshakeable… To bring him to such a state of trembling, gasping, and clutching at Harry's hair was a power trip that spurred him to attempting all sorts of techniques. While he was gripping the base with one hand and delivering rapid flicks of his tongue to the slit in the crown of Draco's cock, he actually had to hold Draco down to keep him from bucking off of the mattress.

A hand suddenly yanked hard at his hair. "Wait! Harry, stop, I'm going to—"

Harry swallowed him down, hollowing his cheeks and sucking gently. Draco's thighs shook and he gave a hoarse cry as his hands pulled Harry's hair again; a hot jet of fluid poured into Harry's throat.

"Damn you, Potter, I didn't want to come yet."

Harry pulled away, not minding the long strand of pale saliva-come that stretched from the tip of Draco's cock until he wiped it away with the back of his hand and licked his lips. "Well, that point is now moot. We'll just have to make you come _again_. Ouch!" He winced as Draco tugged mercilessly at his hair, dragging him upwards and into a bruising kiss. When Harry could free himself, he complained. "You know, I could do with a bit less hair-pulling."

Draco hummed like a satisfied cat. "Are you going to fuck me now?"

Harry smiled. "That's the most brilliant suggestion I've ever heard."

"Well, I am brilliant, I admit. Where is your lube?"

"…lube."

"Yes, Harry, lubricant, emollient, something with which to _ease the way_, so to speak?"

"Bloody hell, I left it at Eddie's."

Draco lifted himself onto his elbows so quickly that he nearly cracked Harry on the forehead. A thunderous scowl darkened his brow. Harry leant back, surprised. "If you don't mind, I would prefer to touch _nothing_ that has been anywhere near Carmichael."

"But…I've been near Carmichael."

Draco grimaced. "Don't remind me. Obviously, you are the sole exception. I am trying to forget that you—and he—"

"Well, we never did this."

"Never did what?"

Harry made a vague hand-waving motion between them. "This. Um. Sex."

Draco went still and fell back to look at Harry. He stared for so long that Harry gave him a poke on the chest to make sure he hadn't been immobilised. The gesture seemed to snap Draco back to reality.

"You never had sex. With Carmichael."

Harry shook his head, flushing slightly because it sounded a bit mad, the way Draco put it. Would he think there was something wrong with him?

"Potter, you lived with him for _months_."

Harry nearly pulled away and fled the bed, but a pale hand reached out and gripped his wrist, stopping him. "I know that! I just wasn't ready. And Eddie never pushed."

"Are you sure he's gay?"

Harry frowned at him. "Of course, he's gay! We…kissed and stuff."

"I've kissed girls, Harry. It doesn't make me heterosexual."

"But—"

"Trust me, any gay man that could live with _you_ for months on end without begging to fuck you or be fucked is either a bloody saint—and Carmichael is no saint—or he has no interest in cock."

Harry puzzled over his words before his jaw dropped. "Has no interest— Wait! Was that a compliment?" He pondered it for a moment. "Yes, it definitely was. You even said _begging—mphr_!" His bewildered crowing was rudely silenced by Draco dragging him down into a kiss, but a laugh bubbled up from Harry's chest anyway. He was suddenly very glad that he'd never shagged Eddie, gay or not, because hearing those words from Draco made every moment of his prior indecision and confusion worthwhile.

"Begging," Harry reminded him when he could breathe again.

"_Shut up_, Potter. Now do you have lube or must I actually send you out into the cold, dark wet to fetch some?"

It wasn't particularly cold, dark, or wet, but Harry definitely didn't want to leave the naked warmth of Draco's gorgeous body, lest he change his mind about that shagging thing—

"_Accio_ lube!" To his infinite relief, something slapped into his open hand. He looked at it curiously, to find a dusty jar that looked as though it might have been undisturbed since the days of Sirius Black. Hoping against hope that it wasn't full of dust or something dried out and ancient, he twisted the lid.

A delicate, spicy-floral scent reached his nose and he dipped a finger inside to find a smooth, viscous gel. He rubbed his finger and thumb together just as Draco took the jar from his hand and wiped through some of the dust on the side.

"Vermillion Violet? Well, despite the fact that you obviously haven't used this in far too long, at least you had good taste at one time. This is top notch. Very good, Harry. I approve." Draco handed the jar back and then flopped down again. His hair fanned over the pillow attractively, as he probably knew. "You may proceed."

Harry smiled as he took the jar back and dipped in his fingers to scoop a liberal amount. If it carried the Malfoy Seal of Approval, he was fine with it. As he smeared it over his slightly softened cock, he hissed at the chill.

"A Warming Charm helps with that. How long since you've wanked?"

"I wank plenty!" Harry protested and then realised that might not be the most prudent thing to admit. "Never mind! Just tell me how I do this. I mean…"

Draco jolted back onto his elbows. "Are you telling me you've never fucked anyone before?"

Harry winced. "Is that bad? I'm going to be terrible at this, aren't I?"

~TBC~

Author's Note: (I hope 3,000 words of foreplay makes up for the LONG LONG wait for this...) :D


	17. Chapter 17

(It seemed wrong to stop there, so have another chapter...)

Speechlessness was becoming far too frequent a condition, Draco reflected as he looked into Harry's earnest face. The fact that the man was a _virgin_ was difficult to come to terms with. He'd been truthful before; either Carmichael was the world's largest imbecile, or he wasn't even vaguely interested in cock. Draco would not have lasted a week living in the same house with Harry. Their present circumstance was proof enough of that.

"Harry, I don't think you could be terrible at anything if you tried. And yes, that was a compliment and no; do not let it go to your head because I don't plan to make a habit of it." His gaze left Harry's green eyes to drop to the tip of his cock, peeping through Harry's well-lubed fingers. "So, I would appreciate you getting on with the mastering of your next challenge and put that where it belongs. Here, let me help."

Draco wouldn't need much preparation. He enjoyed being fucked and regularly used a large selection of toys when a suitable body could not be found—and truthfully the toys received far more attention than the rare body, because Draco was endlessly selective and could find fault with nearly everyone, plus discretion was necessary in his business. He placed a pillow under his arse to give Harry's easier access, and then guided him through the process of inserting a finger or two, just to apply a thick coating of the gel.

"If you ever bottom, we'll prepare you much more thoroughly, but for me I would simply like to feel you as quickly as possible, so that's quite enough." Draco's words felt somewhat abrupt and bossy, but the expression on Harry's face and the gentleness of his hands had been heart-wrenchingly adorable, and Draco couldn't deny the fact that with every small touch that Harry's invisible bonds were wrapping more firmly around Draco's heart.

"I think—can we try that later tonight?"

Draco shut his eyes and gave thanks to every god in every pantheon, and then gasped when the head of Harry's cock breached him.

"Oh Merlin, was that okay—holy hell, you feel amazing. Can I—?" Harry pushed further inside, apparently unable to wait for Draco's approval, although that approval was forthcoming with a groan of pure pleasure as Harry filled him. Salazar, it had been a long time. Not for the first time, he wondered why cock was so much better than any toy, mechanical or magical.

Harry's awed murmurs and the hands tightening and loosening on Draco's hips gave him part of the answer. The real deal was always better than a cheap knockoff. And the real Harry Potter was definitely better than the dark-haired men Draco had picked up in assorted clubs across the globe. He hadn't really admitted to his preference before, but now he allowed himself to admit that he'd been smitten for years.

"Move, Harry. That's it. Just like that. Merlin, you're perfect." Draco clamped his teeth into his lower lip to stop himself from saying even more ridiculous things that Harry could use against him later, but the smile on his face at the moment was worth it. Harry moved with the same grace that Draco had admired during Hogwarts Quidditch games; he set an exquisite rhythm and seemed attuned to every nuance of Draco's body. Each approving gasp assured that the motion would be repeated, and every subtle expression of negation led to a gentle squeeze and a change of movement. Harry was as naturally gifted a lover as he was a hero, and Draco could find little fault in his performance. He even paused now and again to lean down and kiss Draco, something Harry couldn't possibly have known he liked.

Despite Harry's brilliance and Draco's enjoyment, his erection had only achieved half-hardness when Harry started to build up steam. Draco could tell he was close by the shaking of his thighs and the slick shine of sweat covering his torso. Draco would have loved to come again, but he wasn't a teenager anymore and the days of instantaneous round two erections was past. However, the night was young and it was likely that Harry would recover more quickly, having received the benefit of Auror training and being extremely fit.

Harry's hands held tightly to Draco's hipbones and his breath came in loud gasps, accompanied by Draco's name. "I can't stop. Merlin, Draco. Is this—?"

"Let it come, Harry. You're doing great." Harry looked beautiful atop him, thrusting wildly, hair damp and unruly as ever, green eyes half-closed and his body a marvel of constricting muscles. Impulsively, Draco reached out and gripped one of Harry's wrists, only to have Harry twist his arm and link their fingers together. It was awkward, given their pose, but felt foolishly intimate, and when Harry came Draco thought their knuckles might crack from the added pressure, but it was fine; it was better than fine.

And when Harry collapsed on top of him, sweaty and spent and panting Draco's name in a tone that sounded like religious devotion, well, that was even better.

**21st July, 2005 -Thursday**

Harry slept in. He knew he shouldn't, but when he woke before dawn and felt Draco curled next to him, one arm slung over his waist and hot breath dampening the back of his neck, he knew he wouldn't have left the bed if his life had depended upon it. Instead, he snuggled back into Draco's warmth, linked their fingers more tightly together, and mentally catalogued the sore places in his body. His legs, hips, buttocks and, of course, his arse, ached in a way that was far from unpleasant. They had been awake until much too early in the morning, exploring preferences and nuances until exhaustion had finally won over curiosity.

Despite Harry's willingness to sleep the day away and awaken naturally in Draco's arms, a Patronus was more effective than any alarm at forcing him to sit up and grab for his glasses before remembering to Summon them from downstairs.

Hermione's otter patiently waited until he could see it before delivering the message. "Harry, I need to speak to you urgently. Please come to my office at the Ministry." It disappeared as Harry sat up and frowned. He wondered what he should wear, whether jeans and a t-shirt would be appropriate or if he needed to suit up in full Auror gear and return to active duty. Neither sounded appealing; he wanted to stay in bed with Draco.

"Don't go yet," Draco said behind him. He heard more than felt Draco moving, and then a warm body pressed against his back and enveloped him in a clinging hug as lips brushed over his neck.

"I have to. Hermione never bothers me unless it's important."

"It's important, but you need some information first."

Harry twisted round until he could see Draco and look him in the eye. "Merlin, please tell me what you know, and promise me I won't…" He choked the words off, unspoken. He doubted there was much of anything in the world that would make him regret the night past. Draco could have killed the Minister and Harry would probably forgive him for it, even though he would hate himself for eternity for being such a sap. "Please tell me you haven't killed Kingsley."

Draco gave him a stern look. "What are you on about? I need to tell you about Liam Nottingham."

"You killed Liam Nottingham?"

Draco pinched him, hard enough that Harry yelped and rubbed the tender spot above his hipbone. "Ouch, hey!"

"Stop being an idiot and listen. I went to see Nottingham yesterday. You know he sent that message requesting a meeting, yes?"

"Yeah, but that wasn't supposed to be until—"

"Honestly, Harry, do you think I'd be bloody foolish enough to wait? Anyone could have intercepted that message and lain in wait for us. Or it could have been a trap. Naturally, I went to confront him immediately."

"And?"

"And he gave me some very useful information in exchange for his safety and the immediate relocation of his family. Pansy and I spent most of the afternoon whisking him out of the country and burying all trace of him. I daresay she will never find him."

"Pansy will never find him?" Harry frowned in confusion.

"No, silly. Chang will never find him."

Harry spent possibly too long wondering who the hell he knew named "Chang" because Draco pinched him again.

"Cho Chang, Harry, Merlin, catch up. Head of the Department of Mysteries Chang. Terrifying female with thighs of steel and tendencies towards hiring murderous, hateful ex-Death Eaters to take care of the minor irritants in her life Chang. The person you took to the Yule Ball back in fourth year. That Chang?"

"Wait, what are you—_thighs of steel_? How do you know that?"

Draco sighed, but the smile playing about his lips seemed amused. "Trust you to focus on the most inane bit of information in that entire sentence. Cho Chang hired Virgil Crabbe to kill me."

"_What?_"

"Do not look at me like that, Potter, I am perfectly serious and the pieces have finally fallen into place. I suspected her after… well, I've been watching her for quite some time, but then I met with Liam Nottingham and he confirmed everything. Do you know that she contracted Fenrir Greyback to kidnap Nottingham's son in order to put a dreadful scare into him? Nottingham was threatening to flee from their operations and tell Shacklebolt everything. Luckily for him, she decided to simply kidnap the child rather than disembowelling him, or tapping Nottingham himself with a Killing Curse. She erred in thinking it would cow him rather than making him more desperate to escape."

"Operations?"

Draco nodded. "Chang has tentacles in many illegal things. I know about several of them; I simply never had enough proof to take to Shacklebolt. Despite that, I am completely certain that Nottingham spoke the truth. He gave me a huge list of items that Pansy is off fact-checking for me now. I should have been out there with her instead of giving in to your persuasive charms, not that I regret that in the slightest." His fingers caressed Harry's hipbones gently.

Harry would have leant in for a kiss, but his mind was whirling. "Bloody hell, are you saying that Cho has been behind all of this? The Fenrir thing, and Crabbe—what about Rosier?"

"I am not a hundred percent certain of her involvement in that one, but it wouldn't surprise me to find that she was. She has been eliminating people who've stood in her way for years, and if she found Granger to be an obstacle, she would not hesitate to remove her."

"But what does Cho want?" Reluctantly, Harry pulled away from Draco's warmth and debated taking a quick shower. He decided he'd better—he was covered in lubricant and smeared with substances both pleasant and not, and likely reeked of sex. It was a divine smell in the bedroom; at the Ministry, not so much.

"Power, of course. How do you think she ended up as head of the Department of Mysteries?"

"She worked her way up!"

"That she did, and I'm not suggesting she isn't extraordinarily intelligent and competent. But no one ever wondered what happened to Steadham? The man was in the prime of his life."

"It was natural causes. Heart failure, I think." Harry rummaged in his drawers, seeking a clean pair of underwear and some matching socks. He found two that were close and shut the drawer.

"Heart failure assisted with a dash or two of Sarthan Poison in his morning tea."

Harry turned to stare at him. "You can prove that?"

"Of course not. I already told you I don't have enough evidence to take to Shacklebolt. However, one of the ingredients in Sarthan Poison is Latrodectus Katipo spider venom, and that cannot be obtained, even illegally, without some very expert-looking official papers. Expert enough that they came directly from the Ministry itself in this case. I tracked them the papers to Nottingham, whom I first suspected of being the ringleader. It was only after the Fenrir incident that I realised someone was holding his leash. It did not take a genius to determine who that was, but Chang covers her tracks well."

"Then how did you find out it was her?"

Draco threw back the covers and left the bed to pick up his own clothing from the floor. He surveyed his wrinkled trousers with obvious dismay. "I pulled up every record I'd ever had on her and set Blaise and Pansy digging for more, but carefully. Not carefully enough, as it turned out, because she sent Crabbe after me without hesitation. She would have let him kill me, too, despite the fact that I told her my death would leak everything I knew to the press."

"And would it?"

"It would have been sent to you, but I don't think it would have been enough. There might have been a sensational scandal and much speculation, but Chang probably would have weathered it, denied everything, and come out even stronger."

"Are you positive she sent Crabbe?"

"She came to visit me under the guise of Polyjuice. She was careful—very careful—but I knew it was her."

"How? Polyjuice is pretty convincing."

"If you wear enough of the same perfume or cologne, you build up immunity to the scent. When Chang transformed into the man she chose as her guise to visit me, she dumped on a fair bit of strong cologne—and even some alcohol—to try and disguise the scent of her perfume, but some of it still lingered. Polyjuice changes the appearance of the outward form; it does not alter the composition. I picked up a whiff of her perfume beneath the masking scents. It is very distinctive and expensive. If you have ever been in her office at the Ministry, you will know what I mean."

When Harry thought about it, he realised that Cho's office did have a memorable scent, as did Cho herself whenever he'd encountered her.

"She was being careful enough to fool most people, but I've made a habit of noticing such things."

Harry walked to Draco and pulled him into a kiss. "You are a man of many talents."

Draco preened. "I know."

"And I'm late. I'm going to pop into the shower. What are you going to do?" Harry headed for the bathroom, picking up his wand on the way and casually Summoning the rest of his clothing as he went.

"I'm coming with you, of course. If Chang suspects me of having a hand in Notthingham's disappearance, which she most likely will, then we must prepare for anything. Don't forget to bring that magical cloak of yours. We might need it."

Harry glanced over his shoulder before he left the room. "Perhaps you should join me in the shower, then? To save time."

Draco's chuckle followed him out of the room. In the end, the mutual shower might have taken slightly longer than two consecutive, short showers, but it was also far more satisfying.

oooOooo

Draco sent Potter's owl to Pansy before he joined Harry in the shower. The fact that she hadn't shown up yet likely meant that Harry had strengthened the wards. Although he didn't regret the night previous, he couldn't suppress a nudge of worry about Pansy. She and Christine were all that Draco had left.

Although, he had to admit when he and Harry brought each other off with quick, mutual handjobs in the shower, between smouldering kisses, it was just possible that now he had Harry, as well.

The Atrium was not particularly busy when they Flooed to the Ministry. It was a Thursday morning and they had arrived during the slow period between the morning rush of arrivals and the noon crowd escaping for lunch. Draco followed Harry as he bypassed the reception desk with a nod and a tip of his imaginary hat towards the woman seated there. She gave him an indulgent smile and ignored Draco completely.

Granger was not in her office, and the aide stationed nearest to Granger's space hadn't seen her. "I was a bit late and she was gone when I got in." Draco tried not to worry and gave Harry a reassuring smile, although anxiety coiled in his midsection as they made their way to the Auror Division.

"Maybe she's waiting in my office," Harry suggested. Partway back to the lift, a memo waylaid them by bouncing against Harry's forehead. He snatched it with a frown and opened it up. "Merlin, I've been summoned to Kingsley's office."

"Do you want me to keep looking for Granger?"

Harry shook his head. "I'd rather keep you with me, if you don't mind."

Draco leaned close and murmured in his ear. "I don't mind at all."

Harry blushed, but pushed back for a moment, just enough to convey his approval of Draco's idea, and then he seemed to pull the Auror cloak around himself and strode away with a determined step. Draco matched his pace and they quickly reached Shacklebolt's office. Quartermain's desk was unsurprisingly vacant and Draco noticed Harry bite his lip as he glanced at it, but then he knocked at Shacklebolt's door before pushing it open to the Minister's response.

"Auror Potter—oh good. I was hoping you knew where Malfoy had gone. Where have you been, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged. "With Harry." He dropped into one of the Minister's chairs and crossed one ankle over his knee, feigning boredom.

"What do you know about the disappearance of Quentin Quartermain and Liam Nottingham?"

"I know that their names are made up of far too many syllables. Do you suppose they are lovers? Perhaps they eloped."

Harry and Shacklebolt gave him identical looks of disbelief and Draco raised both hands in supplication.

"What? It wouldn't be the first time. I can see the headlines now: 'Secret Ministry Romance! From Supply Cupboards to Sneaky Elopement!' Wouldn't that be something?"

"Draco—" Harry began, but Shacklebolt cut him off.

"Nottingham is a widower and Quartermain is a ruddy homophobe! They are not lovers! Are you trying to tell me you know nothing about the disappearance of either of them?"

Draco crossed his arms with a huff and allowed his brows to draw down in a thunderous scowl. "Honestly, why am I always the bad guy? As much as I would like to lay claim to every misdeed in the world, I am afraid there will always be more than enough evildoers to go round. I still say they eloped. The homophobes are generally hiding their terrifying love for cock, don't you know?"

Draco watched as Harry turned away with a cough, not-subtly attempting to hide his laughter. Shacklebolt leant back in his chair and massaged his temples with both hands whilst heaving a great sigh. "Malfoy, I will never stop cursing the day you walked through the doors of this building."

"Oh, don't give me that. Fenrir is back in Azkaban, Ralston Rosier is locked up, and Virgil Crabbe is dead. I have done your administration more favours in the past month than you can ever repay."

Before Shacklebolt could spit out a retort, a loud knock sounded on the door. "Enter!" Shacklebolt bellowed and the door opened to reveal Weasley, who was munching on something that wafted the scent of bacon into the room.

"Forry, Mimifer," Weasley mumbled through his full mouth. He chewed quickly and swallowed. "Sorry. You sent for me?"

"Yes, I need you to follow up on the Quartermain case. I sent Quentin a message last night and he did not respond, so this morning I sent an Auror out to his house. He is gone; his bed hadn't been slept in, and none of his personal effects seem to be missing. It screams of foul play."

"Have you seen Hermione?" Harry asked.

Weasley nodded. "Yeah, she went to the Department of Mysteries to help them with some research thing. Cho stopped in this morning and asked her personally. Hermione sent me a memo." He puffed up proudly as Draco shot to his feet and Harry gave him an alarmed look.

"Cho Chang asked for her personally?"

Ron nodded, obviously picking up on the sudden tension. His gaze flicked from Harry to Draco and back again. "What's up?"

A man rushed into the room through the door Weasley had left open. "Minister! There was an explosion in Diagon Alley! Gringotts is under attack!"

Harry gasped and turned, but Draco took a quick step and latched a hand onto his arm. He shook his head with a minute jerk and Harry stopped. Surprisingly, Weasley noticed that also, and his eyes narrowed.

"Is that a fact, or a bloody rumour?" Shacklebolt demanded as he got to his feet. "Andrew, how many times have I asked you not to barge in here without something concrete?"

"I'll have it checked out, Minister," Weasley promised.

"We'll…go along to help out," Harry said with a jerk of his head towards the door.

"Fine. And then I'll expect you back here. Especially you, Malfoy. I'm not finished with you yet."

Draco bowed low. "As you wish, your Ministership."

The three of them went out, leaving the unfortunate Andrew to bear the brunt of Shacklebolt's wrath.

"What is it?" Weasley demanded when they were out of earshot of the office. "What's up with Cho Chang and Hermione?"

"We need to get to the Department of Mysteries _now_."

"Now? I can't! I have to go to Diagon Alley!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Are you the Head Auror, or not? _Send someone_, Weasley. Have you heard the term _delegate_?"

"Oh. Yeah, I guess I could. But what if Gringotts is under attack?"

"Then send someone competent. I wouldn't be surprised if the Diagon Alley drama is a diversion to draw us out. We need to find Chang."

Harry nodded. "I agree. If what you've told me is true, we need to confront her now. And I'm worried about Hermione."

"All right, we're stopping by the Auror Department and you two are filling me in on the way. Start talking." With that, Weasley broke into a jog and beckoned them to hurry.

oOo

Weasley actually seemed competent, for once, when they reached the Auror Department. He rounded up a crowd of lazy-looking Aurors, got them wound into a dither, and then sent them off on various errands. While he was yelling, Seamus Finnigan sidled close to Draco and then made a beckoning gesture with his head. Draco noted that Harry's attention was fully upon Weasley and the spectacle he was making, so he joined Finnigan a short distance away.

"You asked me to keep an eye on Eddie Carmichael, so I did. He's here."

"Here?" Draco glanced around.

"Not here in the Auror Department, but somewhere in the building. I Flooed in early this morning and was having a chat with Edna at Reception when I spied Carmichael coming out of the Floo. I hurried to catch him without letting on that I was running, but I missed the bloody doors. Can't tell you where he went. He avoided the desk, so there's no record of his business. I thought he might have come to find Harry, but no one has seen him on this level."

"Curious," Draco said, although he had a sneaking suspicion where Carmichael might have got off to. "Thanks, Finnigan. And don't forget Ulyanovsk."

Finnigan nodded. "_Ulyanovsk_. Right."

Draco went back to Harry, who leaned his way. "I've never seen you chummy with Seamus before. What's up?"

Draco clapped Harry on the back and laughed. "Harry, Finnigan and I are the best of friends. Don't you know I've gone through great pains to befriend everyone in your life?"

Harry shot him a sidelong glance full of suspicion. "Yeah, in order to fulfil your own sneaky agenda." He held up a hand when Draco straightened in an affronted manner. "Save it. You can make up some ridiculous story for me later. I look forward to hearing it, but right now we need to find Hermione."

Draco was torn between consternation at Harry's lack of trust and a swell of pride that Harry could see through nearly all of Draco's machinations. He made a mental note to concoct a story worthy of Scheherazade and her thousand-and-one-nights. In fact, he might have to draw it out just that long, in order to guarantee himself a place in Harry's bed for that many evenings in a row. He gave Harry a speculative look.

A grinned tugged at the corner of Harry's lips. "Merlin, it should be illegal that you look so attractive when you're plotting. Stop it at once."

Draco only gave him a smug smirk and made a humming noise. Weasley stomped up and curtailed their banter with an impatient gesture. "Immediate crisis dealt with. Let's go."

And back to the lifts they went.

~TBC~


	18. Chapter 18

The black hallway that led from the lifts on Level Nine to the door at the far end looked no less ominous to Harry than it had when he was just a boy. He'd had little reason to come down here since then, even as an Auror. The Unspeakables seldom needed anything from the other departments, being largely self-sustaining and, frankly, bloody mysterious and creepy. To Draco's obvious relief, Pansy Parkinson stood near the door, tapping her foot with impatience.

"It's about time."

Draco hugged her tightly. "Christine?"

"She's safe. We spent the night covering our tracks—and yours. You're welcome and you owe us big."

"Shopping in Paris. I guarantee it."

"I suppose that will work. For starters."

"How'd you know we'd be down here?" Ron beheld Parkinson with a suspicious stare.

"For an Auror, you're pretty thick, Weasley." Parkinson plucked a note from her robes and waved it in the air. "You left Granger's memo on your desk. No one batted an eye when I marched straight into the Auror Department and took it. Honestly, I don't know how the Ministry functions sometimes."

Ron scowled and Harry hoped he was making mental notes on how to improve departmental security in the future. Draco muttered something about "Pansy's tits allowing her access to places from which ordinary people would be barred". It was a failing of the heterosexual male, Harry figured.

The entrance to the Department of Mysteries was the same as it had ever been; a circular room that contained twelve doors. A man stood in the centre of the room. He looked at them curiously when the door shut behind them. The walls began to spin, and although Harry logically expected that the door to his back would lead to the exit, he knew the glassy floor rotated as well, leaving everything in confusion. He'd always thought it to be a stupid way to enter a department, and had voiced his disgust to Kingsley more than once.

The man lifted a hand at the same time Draco lifted his wand. "Hello," he said just as a Stunner sailed from the tip of Draco's wand and knocked him for a loop.

"_Draco!_" Harry shouted just as Ron yelled, "_Malfoy!_" Harry threw himself between Draco and Ron, just in case, and he grabbed at Draco's wrist to stop him from doing anything else unexpected. Draco did not resist.

"While it is entirely possible that he is merely a poor sod from the Department of Magical Transportation, he might also have been left here to warn Chang in the event that we turned up. I prefer to be safe than sorry."

Harry sighed heavily and let go. "Merlin, I hate it when you're utterly unscrupulous, but correct. Ron, tie that guy up and let's move along. The sooner we find Hermione, the better."

Ron bound the unconscious man, muttering the entire time about "bloody Slytherins" and "best not be suspended for this" and "got Harry by the balls". The last one might have upset Harry a couple of days ago, but now he simply remembered Draco's hand on his balls and felt warmth bloom in his cheeks. He didn't dare look at Draco as he shifted to ease the resulting tightness in his pants. Now was not the time.

"Which door, Draco?"

"Any of them. I'll know where to go once we open it." With that, he walked to the nearest door and yanked on the handle. It opened to reveal such brightness that they all had to blink and cover their eyes in order to adjust to it. Once he could see again, Harry stood next to Draco and peered through to what seemed to be a large, open plain of grass, yellowed from heat, extending away into a great distance where a tiny jutting of mountains broke the horizon line. "Right, then. We need the third door to the left of this one. Go open it now or the room will spin again when we shut this."

Harry hurried over to open the door, and was relieved to see an ordinary-looking corridor. Draco shut the door on the vista and they all crowded into the corridor before closing the door behind them. Several other portals appeared on each wall, but Draco marched ahead until he reached the room at the end of the hall.

"Chang's office," he explained and then stepped aside with a dynamic gesture at Ron. "Aurors first."

Ron muttered under his breath, but he pushed open the door and barged inside, wand ready. Harry followed him in and stopped short, uttering a startled word.

"_Eddie_?"

Eddie leapt from the chair in which he'd been seated. "Harry! By Rowena, _Harry_! I've been so worried! I came home and saw your note, and it looked like you'd— Well, I couldn't believe it!" He launched himself forwards as though to throw himself into Harry's arms, but he came up short against Draco's chest, suddenly superimposed between them.

"I will thank you to keep your hands to yourself, Carmichael," Draco said in a tone that Harry had only heard a couple of times before. The dangerous quality to it was a ridiculous turn-on and he had to grip his wand tightly enough that the wood nearly hurt in order to drag his mind away from memories of the previous night, and Draco's sexy voice growling his name. The timing was inappropriate.

"What the hell are you doing here, Eddie?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Ron added, "last I heard, Magical Games and Sports was on Level Seven. Not much call for Unspeakables from people who sell _Quidditch supplies_."

Harry glanced at Ron, surprised at his tone. Unless Hermione had shared Harry's vague suspicions about Eddie, Ron should have had no reason to mistrust him.

"I didn't know where else to go! You had vanished and I was so worried! The Aurors wouldn't help me! You know they hate me up there, Harry—"

"That would be almost believable, Carmichael, except that you never went to the Auror Department today." Draco's tone was matter-of-fact and Harry dared not look at him after he uttered the statement. How had he known? Was it a bluff? If so, it worked, because Eddie flushed and looked at the door as if praying for escape or rescue.

"I… I meant to, but I came here first."

"Why? I didn't even know you knew Cho."

"Of course I know Cho. Surely I've mentioned it before."

"Not once," Harry countered. "Where is Hermione?"

"How would I know? Harry, come home with me and we'll straighten this mess out."

Harry frowned and wondered what he had ever liked about Eddie. Knowing that he'd been lied to, and was being lied to now, if the nervous twitch of Eddie's jaw was any indication, did not sit well with him. Small things that he'd noticed since Draco's first warning came back to him, and the dossier file was chief amongst them. "Did Cho hire you to keep watch on me? If so, _why_?"

Parkinson slung an arm around Ron's shoulders. "Hey, Weasley. How about we stand out in the corridor for a minute and see if Chang comes back?"

Ron tried to squirm away, but she only pressed herself closer, to such a degree that Ron's face went scarlet.

"You might as well do as she asks, Weasley. She can be rather cephalopodan when she sets her mind to something."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means like an octopus. Would you like to feel my other six hands?" Parkinson grinned at him.

"We'll be outside and I don't want to know why this is necessary."

Parkinson dragged him through the door and it shut with a bang behind them. Eddie's eyes widened and he looked from Draco to Harry. "You're an Auror," he said in a tone tinged with fearful accusation.

"Not officially. I'm on indefinite leave, remember?"

Draco's Cruciatus Curse caused Harry to wince, until he remembered how Draco had looked after escaping from Crabbe. If Eddie had been involved with that nightmare, Harry wanted to know. If Cho was, indeed, the one behind everything they'd been dealing with, they needed to discover what she was planning to do with Hermione.

Eddie screamed and fell to the floor, writhing. Draco let up immediately and Eddie moaned and curled into a fetal position. "Why, Harry? Why are you doing this? _I love you!_"

Draco snarled and lifted his wand again. Harry reached out a hand to stop him, but Eddie cringed back with a yelp, scooting nearly under Cho's desk to escape.

"Just tell us where she went, Eddie, or I'll have Harry leave the room and the two of us will have our little chat _alone_. Won't that be fun?" Despite Draco's conversational tone, his smile was vicious.

"Harry, don't leave me alone with him!"

Draco stalked forwards and crouched before Eddie, looking menacing. "How can you _dare_ to ask him for anything after what you've done to him?"

"What _I've_ done? I'm the one that ended up in St Mungo's, nearly killed in my own flat! I'm the one here being threatened by a madman!" Despite Eddie's fear, his protest was strong and Harry felt a queasy twist of guilt. What if he was innocent? Harry would never forgive himself.

"I found the dossier, Eddie. The photos and clippings. What I don't understand is _why_. Why would you pretend to be in love with me? What could you gain from it?"

Draco's wand tip pressed against Eddie's chin and dug in. "Think carefully before replying. Harry doesn't know why, but I do. And if you lie, I will make you wish you had died at Rosier's hand."

Eddie had been about to speak, but his mouth slowly closed and then opened again. His wide eyes flicked to Harry and then back to Draco. One more prod of Draco's wand seemed to deflate his resistance.

"I did it for money, all right? I was up to my bloody neck in gambling debts. I lost a mint on the last World Cup and Notus would have happily used my innards for braces. Cho saved my arse, as long as I did as she asked. It wasn't difficult, I just had to keep an eye on Harry and report his activities."

The words felt like stones, dropping into the pit of Harry's soul. Even though he'd suspected, he found that suspicion was very different from confirmation; everything he'd felt for Eddie had been real, and it hurt like an open wound to discover he'd been duped, that none of it had been honestly returned.

"She told you to keep an eye on him. But that's not all you did, Eddie." Draco's voice was a low coil that sounded like sheathed rage.

Eddie swallowed and shook his head. "No. It worked too well. My flirting led to…Harry wanting a relationship. He wanted something permanent and Cho suggested I ask him to move in. It seemed harmless!"

"Harmless. Pretending to care about him, convincing him to leave the Aurors, playing his emotions and _using him_? Do you really call that harmless?"

Eddie's eyes widened until his irises were surrounded by a sea of white. "I didn't use him! It was his idea to leave the Aurors! She said to encourage him, that's all! I never planned to—!" Eddie broke off and his wild gaze fixed on Harry. "Harry, _please_—"

"Are you even gay, Eddie, or was that a lie? You never pushed, and although I was grateful at the time, now I can't help but wonder if any of it was real."

"I… I…" Eddie took a deep breath and then he shut his eyes and his head dropped back to bang against the desk with the sound of defeat. "No. I mean, I'm not homophobic, or anything. I could have…you know, if it came to that. I would have. I would have, Harry."

Harry turned away. If Eddie's words were supposed to make him feel better, they had the opposite effect. He felt sick.

Draco sounded shaken when he spoke again. "Salazar, you're a bigger piece of shit than I suspected. As much as I would love to _Crucio_ you into raving madness, unfortunately I don't have the time. Tell us where Cho went."

"I don't know! She said something about leverage before she left! That's all I know!"

Draco pulled his wand away from Eddie's face, but he tapped it menacingly against his palm. "What did she say _exactly_?"

"She said… She said 'isn't leverage a curious thing' and then she told me to wait here. That's it! I don't know what it means!"

Draco looked at Harry. "I know where she is." He levelled a Stunner at Eddie, who toppled over without a sound. Several additional spells left him bound him tightly.

"Draco—" Harry felt wrecked. In a heartbeat, Draco had enfolded him into a tight embrace.

"Harry." Draco's lips brushed against his forehead and Draco's chest moved as he inhaled slowly. "Harry, he was never worth your time."

"It felt like he was. I was duped so _easily_. Draco, what if I'm wrong about—?" Harry stopped before he could utter the words. He felt like a big enough fool; if he was wrong about Draco then he would never be able to trust his own feelings again.

Draco pulled away and held Harry at arm's length. His fingers—and the handle of his wand—dug into Harry's shoulders. "_Never apologize for feeling what you feel._ Do you understand? It doesn't matter that none of it was real to him, it was real to you. Do not think for one moment that you need to lock away your heart and base your future relationships on mistrust, or the expectation that everyone is trying to mislead you. Harry, part of what makes you _you_ is the fact that you give in to your emotions so freely, that you live in the moment and express joy when you feel it and anger when you feel it, and everything in between. Do not let some money-hungry charlatan cause you to doubt the brilliance of your emotions and deny someone the gift of your future devotion, because that's what it was, Harry. It was a _gift_, and he was too bloody stupid to recognise it. That loss should be his alone, not yours."

Harry stared at him, shaken not only by Draco's words, but by the vehemence with which they had been delivered. He had no idea what to say, and wasn't certain he could speak at all through the growing lump in his throat. With the clarity of bright sunlight, he realised that what he'd felt for Eddie had been a candle's flame compared to the brilliance of what he felt for Draco. It was electrifying.

Unaware of Harry's emotional vortex, Draco only smiled at him and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "Now, come along before I say anything else incriminating. Let's go and find Granger."

Ron looked at them owlishly when they exited, and Harry noticed he was stood across the hall and several feet away from Pansy, who studied her nails with apparent indifference.

"We are likely walking into a trap," Draco said and strode with his usual confidence back to the main entrance chamber. He held the door open as the others entered the circular room. "Harry, open that door over there. Yes, straight across."

Collecting himself finally, Harry flung open the portal and then stepped back in surprise, but he caught the door before it closed. He stared into what looked like dark, star-filled space. A moment later, Draco joined him.

"The Unspeakables have a revolting sense of humour, for the most part. Try to stay behind me in a single file. The floor might be illusion, but it might also be a narrow bridge over an abyss. I would rather not discover the latter to be true." With that, he stepped out into space. Harry reached for him with an instinctive gasp, but instead of falling away, Draco's foot touched down on something solid, though unseen. He glanced back at Harry with a smile and then reached up and caressed Harry's fingers for a moment before turning and continuing on.

The four of them walked through space and Harry tried to focus on Draco's shoulders rather than gawking at the visual display around them. It was as though they stood in a remote location with nothing to block their view of the night sky. The sheer number of stars was mind-boggling, and threatened to reduce all of his problems to the insignificance of a speck of dust.

After what seemed far too long a walk through the cosmos, Draco halted and then groped out in front of him. He took a step back, nearly treading on Harry's toes, and opened what seemed to be a door into pitch darkness. He walked inside and Harry followed, anxious to escape the disturbing vastness of space.

They found themselves in a dim chamber, so dark that at first it seemed to be nothing but plain blackness, but when his eyes adjusted, Harry saw that it was a circular room filled with windows that looked out on the stars they had just left.

Draco led them straight through the chamber and Harry saw a man seated at a bench. He did not stir, nor did he seem to notice their presence at all. His eye was pressed to the lens of a large telescope.

"Pay no mind to Copernicus, there. He hasn't left this room in four years. He's so obsessed with studying the variations of the Crab Nebula that he's completely forgotten the outside world. His wife left him a year ago; I believe she's filed for divorce in-absentia. He probably doesn't recall that he ever married."

Harry gaped at the unmoving Unspeakable, and then hurried after Draco, who had opened another door and walked through. They didn't move far into the next room, mainly as it took them several minutes of blinking to adjust to the sudden brightness. Multiple, gleaming torches lit the long, rectangular room before them and Harry felt a sense of disquiet as his vision focussed on the objects decorating the huge space.

"Leverage," Draco said in a dry tone.

"We have to cross this?" Ron asked with a near-squeak.

"I'm afraid so. Judging by the glowing sigil on that door, just there," Draco pointed, "we need to figure out how to get over there. By the look of the floor, it's a dimensional portal. Like a giant Portkey. If we fall, we'll be teleported to Merlin knows where."

Harry looked into the swirling mist that made up the floor beyond the platform where they stood. Above the mist floated a bewildering array of slowly ascending and descending levers. They reminded Harry somewhat of the moving staircases at Hogwarts.

"Can't we just use spells to hold them steady?"

"Try it," Draco said. They immediately cast an array of spells, none of which had any effect on the levers. "Nullification field."

"The problem, of course, is that stepping on the end of a lever, such as that one, will cause it to tip, unless there is an equal and opposite weight at the other end."

Ron stood next to Draco and frowned. "Unless you time it right and catch one on the downswing. Might have time to make it to the centre. Let me think on this a moment." Ron walked back and forth on the platform, mumbling to himself and crouching down to peer into the room of moving levers. They resembled children's seesaws, although they all seemed a bit wider, perhaps have the width of a staircase.

"Why even have this room? This is stupid!" Parkinson burst out.

"Why have a room full of brains in jars, or a big chamber with nothing but an archway leading to _death_—sorry, Harry." Ron shut his jaw with a click and then went back to studying the problem. "Okay, I think I've got it. This will take some coordination, so when I give the orders, you lot jump. Okay?"

Harry nodded immediately and Draco followed suit. Parkinson looked dubious, but she shrugged.

"All right. Stay here for a minute. I'll get on this first one." With that, Ron walked a short distance down the platform and then leapt up and into the hovering levers. He caught an edge of wood and it began to descend quickly. He clambered onto it and then threw himself forwards, ending in a crab-crawl in the middle of the lever, which stopped its dangerous tipping. Ron inched onward until the plank evened out. Then he raised himself onto his knees and turned back, balancing on the centre of the lever with his hands outstretched. "Okay, Harry, I'm going to slide back a bit. When it starts to lift, grab it and I'll balance it to keep it from tipping."

Harry did as Ron bid and it was only a short jump onto the platform. When it started to descend, Ron scooted backwards until his weight cancelled Harry's. Draco went next, and Harry hopped to the middle portion of the lever whilst Ron stayed where he was. The three of them balanced carefully.

"Do we really need Parkinson?" Ron asked.

"Shut up unless you want your balls hexed, Weasley. I'm coming!"

Ron growled, but the others carefully manoeuvred until Parkinson joined them. Harry and Draco stood close together near the centre of the platform whilst Ron and Parkinson balanced on the ends.

"Harry, reach up and grab that one above you. If you and Malfoy hold it steady, we should be able to climb on easily."

Harry and Draco both took an edge of the next lever, which was perpendicular to the one on which they stood. They held it tightly and used it to steady the one beneath their feet as Ron and Parkinson moved closer. Taking a close grip on one another, they climbed into the second platform; Parkinson first, then Ron, then Draco. Ron moved to the other end with Parkinson and Draco helped Harry to climb aboard.

In that awkward fashion, they slowly crossed the room. At one point, they had to leap down onto a platform, with the first of them landing as close to the middle as possible, and then scrambling to adjust as the second person landed nearby. It was nerve-wracking and exhausting. At one point, Parkinson nearly slipped off the edge and away, but a quick dive by Ron, followed by a frantic scramble by the others to straighten the lever, caught her by one arm. He hauled her up, using muscles that might have impressed Harry had they been on anyone but Ron.

"Nicely done, Weasley," Draco murmured and Parkinson added a grudging thanks.

Finally, they reached the platform before the door with the glowing sigil and they all dismounted, with Ron hopping off from near dead-centre of the last platform.

"I never want to do anything like that again," Ron growled and put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. They were all drenched in sweat. Parkinson fanned herself.

Harry pulled Draco close, using both fists bunched into his damp shirt. He spoke decisively. "Draco, I am going back on active duty. I don't want to stop being an Auror."

Draco smiled. "All right."

"And I don't want you to disappear somewhere warm. I don't want you to disappear at all."

Draco's smiled seemed to soften and widen at once. "All right."

Harry felt something turn into warm jelly in the region of his heart and he pushed Draco against the door and kissed him soundly. He dimly heard Ron squeak like a stomped rat, but he didn't care. The feel and taste of Draco was heady, despite the urgency to move on through the door and find Hermione. When Draco pulled away from the kiss, he said, "You owe me, Weasley, so I don't want to hear anything about it."

"Just open the damned door and let's find Hermione!"

~TBC~


	19. Chapter 19

The door opened into mirrors. Rows and walls and windows of mirrors. Draco had expected it, but the sheer number of them was still something of a shock, or perhaps he was finding it difficult to think at all after Harry's kiss and strangely moving declarations. Honestly, Draco hadn't felt so giddy since his seventh Christmas, when he'd opened a particularly long package to find his first broom within.

_Pull yourself together, Draco, honestly_, he thought with a mental shake and a tightening grip on his wand. He needed to concentrate because Chang was not a pushover. She had brought them here for a reason.

"Granger?" he called loudly, hoping against hope that the former Gryffindor had managed to take out Chang on her own. It wouldn't have been that surprising, after all, even though Draco would be the last to admit that he thought Granger capable of such a feat.

"Hermione!" Harry added, lifting his wand and casting a Light Spell to brighten the area around them. The mirrors nearby reflected his light and sent their own images back at them sevenfold.

There was no response, so they walked carefully into the room, weaving between the mirrors. Most of them were self-standing, some on huge frames reminiscent of the ancient mirrors separating vast walls in Malfoy Manor, whilst others were shorter and two-sided, swivelling on pivot points rather like the lever platforms in the room they'd just left. Others simply floated in place, taller than Weasley, and each of the larger ones were separated by smaller mirrors, from handheld bits of floating silver to long curtains of Galleon-sized glass held together with strands of chain.

Most of them perfectly reflected their own images, but some were distorted; one gave them all demonic visages. Draco's own face, albeit with horns and fangs, snarled back at him when he met the cold, red stare. He shuddered and moved quickly past. Another puffed his face into a balloon-caricature, showing what he would have looked like if he'd been stung by a nest of bees. Weasley snorted at that one and Pansy muttered, "Merlin, that needs smashing."

Some of them showed no reflection at all, but instead held swirling, dark mists, a bright crystalline glow, or nothingness so complete that it caused them all to stop and stare for long minutes. Harry reached out as if to touch the glass and Draco caught his fingers with a gentle squeeze. He shook his head in warning.

"This place gives me the creeps." Weasley's voice confirmed what Draco felt, especially when looking into the flat mirror of nothing. "We should just smash our way through." He lifted his wand and Draco gasped as he leapt forwards to wrestle his arm down.

"Bloody hell, Weasley, are you mad? There is no telling what you might unleash doing that. Some of these are not mirrors, but doorways. Mirrors have tricky magic even in their simplest form. They never reflect reality. _Not ever_."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Of course it does. Look there, at your own image." Draco gestured at a mirror that seemed to show a normal reflection. "When you look at yourself, the image is reversed, the opposite of what everyone else sees. So, which is real?"

Weasley's look of horror might have amused him at another, less urgent, time.

"That's very philosophical of you, Draco. But then, I never thought of you as stupid." The voice belonged to Cho Chang and they all froze and turned towards the sound. Draco skirted a number of mirrors, wending through the maze with the others on his heels. He stopped when he reached an open area and spotted Hermione Granger's reflection. She had been strapped to a mirror, tightly bound with ropes both magical and ordinary. A tight gag covered her mouth.

Weasley tried to rush forwards with a cry, but Harry held him back. "It's just a reflection, Ron, look." Harry was correct; Granger appeared in eight different mirrors, some close, some more distant. Finding her in reality would not be easy with reflections upon reflections beckoning them falsely.

"Why did you lure us here?" Draco called. Chang had to be in the room somewhere, but she did not appear in any of the mirrors. Tricky, that. Draco leaned closer to Harry. "Get your cloak out. Stand between Weasley and I and put it on."

Harry did not argue, and within moments he was invisible. Draco hoped it would even the odds.

"I was hoping you wouldn't make it through the Lever Room. I modified the floor to send you somewhere special. You would never have been found and that would have made things so much simpler."

"Why are you doing this?" Weasley yelled. "What do you hope to gain from all of this?"

"The same thing I have always gained, Ronald. Power. Do you think I could have reached the position I now hold without clawing and fighting my way up? Do you think any woman can get ahead without playing dirty and stacking the odds in her favour?"

"Hermione did," Weasley muttered, but he thankfully had enough wisdom not to point that out to Chang. Not with Granger in likely range of Chang's wand.

"I'm going to find her," Harry murmured and then he pressed against Draco's back for a moment and was gone.

"You were supposed to come alone, Draco. Why did you have to bring the others? You've made things difficult. You always make things so difficult. I should have killed you instead of leaving you to Crabbe."

Draco walked onwards, heading towards one of the reflections of Granger. He peered carefully around the edges of the hanging mirrors, ready for anything. Chang wouldn't have lured them inside without a plot in mind.

"Virgil was a trifle over-obvious and eager. I am surprised you used him, frankly. You should have known his hatred of me would make him sloppy."

"Indeed. I admit I was mistaken in thinking he would finish you." The voice came from a different side of the room and Draco's head swivelled that way. He frowned. Either she was moving or she had used a spell to throw her voice.

"Stay together," Draco ordered in a low tone. "Weasley, figure out what the hell she wants. Why did she bring us here? She wants us all dead or out of commission, so unravel her plan."

Weasley bumped into Pansy, who nearly knocked over Draco. "Oh bloody hell," Weasley said just as Draco figured it out. He swore.

"Pansy, get back to the door and try to keep her from leaving. From the _outside_."

"She means to smash all the mirrors." Weasley sounded somewhat panicked.

Draco agreed. "She'll claim it was an accident and concoct some ridiculous reason for us all to be in here. At the moment, she's in with us, so she needs to get out. She knows we won't leave without Granger."

"I will," Pansy said, already moving back the way they'd come. Draco lost sight of her and could only hope she could locate the exit. Meanwhile, Weasley was blundering in the opposite direction.

"Hermione!" he yelled.

Draco hurried after him. "Oh for Salazar's sake, Weasley, stop and think a moment."

"We might not have a moment," Weasley growled and pushed past a curtain of hanging mirrored strips. It clanked noisily.

Draco stopped as something else occurred to him. _Harry didn't know_. He was blundering around in the dark, unaware of the danger. And Draco had no way of finding him with the cloak on. "Shit. Shit! We have to stop her before she can trigger it. Weasley, you find Granger. I'll go after Chang."

"Right," Weasley called and pushed on, racing to one reflection only to turn and go after another.

Draco turned back, using familiar mirrors as landmarks and moving as quickly as possible. The sound of a smashing mirror froze him in mid-step and he waited tensely, expecting a chain-reaction, but he heard nothing more. Despite that, he turned in a slow circle, alert for anything, scarcely daring to breathe. Had Harry broken a mirror, or had Chang? And if Chang, what had she unleashed?

He dodged a mirror that grew clawed hands from the frame and groped at him. Another gave him a fleeting glimpse of something so beautiful that he turned back, and then closed his eyes with sheer willpower. Only by biting his lip hard enough to draw blood did he shake the desire; once away, he knew he would have stood there for the rest of his life, admiring the deadly view.

Another mirror shattered. It was close—too close—and Draco broke into a run as a cold sweat erupted over his skin. He had to be nearing the door. He remembered the huge mirror with the silver frame. Just as he spotted it, a shadow moved and then a pale face came into view.

"Enjoy your reflections, Malfoy!" Chang said and then threw open the door. She cast a spell as Draco dove for her, and then the door slammed shut. She was gone. Her spell crashed into the nearest mirror and sent glass shards raining down over Draco's back. He winced as a sliver nicked him in the neck.

"_Harry!_" he screamed as a second mirror, and then a third, exploded.

"Draco! Merlin, I nearly had her! _Protego!_" And Harry was there, gathering him into his arms and casting his amazing Shield Charm. Despite his relief, Draco knew it wouldn't protect them for long. "Ron!"

There was no reply beyond the shattering of glass and Harry cast a sudden and blinding Light Spell, bright enough to set the entire room gleaming when it was reflected a hundredfold. His timing was fortuitous, as something dark and slithery was reaching for them with gleaming claws—the light caused it to shriek with an otherworldly wail before it shrivelled away.

"_What the fuck was that?_"

"I don't know, Potter, but there are probably worse things in here now. We need to get the hell out!"

"Not without Ron and Hermione. You should go, though." Despite his words, Harry's grip on Draco's shoulders didn't falter, and Draco clung to him with finality. If this was to be their final destination, then so be it.

"Ron! Damn it, where are you!"

"Here!" The voice was Granger's, and an answering glow of light emitted from the centre-right portion of the room. "There is something in the way! It has tentacles!" Several loud bangs followed, echoing the sound of more mirrors shattering.

"We have to go and help them!"

"How did I know you would say that?" Draco groaned, but he turned with Harry and they hurried through shards of smashed glass, attacking everything that moved with whatever spells seemed to work. There were mists and ropes and, at one point, a bloody metal claw rising up from a shard of mirror to impale Draco's foot.

"I am going to kill that woman slowly and with relish," Draco snarled as he stumbled along after Harry, bleeding and wincing with every step. "Pickle relish. Or perhaps mango chutney. It would go down well with her _liver_."

"Draco, stop. You need not turn cannibal—_Ron!_ Bloody hell, you're a sight! Hermione!" Granger threw herself at Harry and clung, nearly dislodging Draco, who held more tightly, refusing to be dislodged. He and Granger exchanged pointed stares.

"Sorry, I had no idea not to trust Cho. _Protego!_ Godric, we need to get out of here!" Something large and fanged rebounded from Granger's hastily-cast Shield Charm.

"Was that a dragon?" Weasley shrieked. His skin was a vibrant shade of orange and his hair was—gone.

"Wyvern, I think," Granger said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Another mirror blew up and they all cast simultaneous shields. Glass fell around them like glitter.

"Let's get back to the door before we all die."

"Good plan!" Weasley's voice was in the falsetto range and Draco wondered if it was permanent. Now was not the time to bask in another's ill fortune, however, especially if the greenish mist creeping towards them was any indication.

"We need to run. _Now!_" Draco cast the strongest Wind Charm he knew, but it barely slowed the fast-traveling mist. He had the feeling a Shield Charm would be ineffectual.

The others did not need encouragement. They bolted, dodging large mirrored slivers on the floor and ducking out of range of partially destroyed frames. A huge mirror loomed in front of Granger, seemingly self-propelled, and whatever spell she levelled at it shattered it into dust.

"Note to Weasley," Draco said companionably and used a spell to clear a path, unwilling to risk another metal spike though his foot; it throbbed painfully with every step. "Never tie her up. It seems to anger her."

"Ha bloody ha, Malfoy!" Weasley squeaked.

Harry turned and cursed before casting several spells at the encroaching mist. One seemed to dissipate it slightly, but it regrouped and continued to follow.

Granger reached the door and tugged at the handle. "_Alohomora!_" she yelled. The lock fell to pieces and the portal flew open. They launched themselves through and then Harry slammed it shut. Four wands cast four different sealing charms: the door turned to brick and was edged in solidifying, oozing tar. Two magical glows surrounded it.

"Oh, hey. What kept you lot?"

Draco turned to see Pansy seated cross-legged on the edge of the lever platform. She seemed to be varnishing her nails. Cho Chang sprawled near her feet, unconscious or dead.

Weasley sagged against the wall and then slid down to land on his arse. Harry chuckled and it was a half-wild sound. He pulled Draco into an embrace and held on tightly. He felt solid, warm, and wonderful. Granger dropped to her knees next to Weasley and patted him on the leg.

"Pansy, that shopping trip to Paris I owe you?"

"Yes, darling?"

"I just doubled the funds in your clothing account."

Pansy's grin was enormous. "You're welcome."

oooOooo

In the end, they had to traverse the floating platforms to reach the door, although it was made quicker with the addition of Hermione. Parkinson and Cho remained behind. Once Draco threw open the door, they transfigured a detached wall sconce into a bridge and hauled it into the room for Parkinson to cross. She unceremoniously hauled Cho along by the collar and then dropped her at Harry's feet.

"Can I leave now?"

"You'll need to fill out a statement." Ron's voice had returned to normal, thanks to Hermione, but his skin was still orange and he remained bald as an egg.

"Merlin, how long will that take? I have a shopping trip to plan!"

Moments later, they were overrun with Aurors, called by Harry and Ron's Patronus Charms. Harry handed Cho over to Kay-Kay and Seamus and then watched with satisfaction as they locked her into the same chamber that had held Draco when he'd first marched into the Ministry. Their eyes met and a smile touched Draco's lips.

He sent Seamus back for Eddie and had him taken to Auror holding. Harry watched Eddie stumble past, awake but groggy, bound sturdily with magical bonds. He felt a twinge when their eyes met. Eddie tried to speak, but Harry turned away, trying to hold onto Draco's earlier words. Harry hadn't been in love with Eddie, but it had been a near thing and would have eventually led to his utter devastation, if not for Draco.

As if sensing his thoughts, Draco reached out and squeezed his hand. Harry held tightly for a moment, and then forced himself to get back to the business at hand.

After leaving a group of Aurors with strict orders not to let anyone in or out of the Department of Mysteries, Harry and his friends made their way up the lift to Level One and from there to Kingsley's office.

To his credit, Kingsley barely lifted an eyebrow as he listened to the tale, and then he sent out a rush of memos and demanded that Draco sit down and give him a list of everything he knew, as well as everything he suspected.

"Harry, you should go home."

"Minister, I would formally like to cancel my leave and return to work full-time."

For once, Kingsley looked surprised, and then a huge grin cracked his typically expressionless face. "Then get your arse to Level Two and fill out the damned paperwork. It's nice to have you back, Auror Potter."

"It's nice to be back, Minister." Harry looked at Draco and felt a laugh trying to bubble out of his chest. He knew he was making the right decision and it was brilliant. Draco's eyes gleamed with merriment.

"Auror Weasley, get yourself to the infirmary and see if they can do something about your skin tone, if not your hair. Granger, I'll need your statement."

With one last look at Draco, Harry went out. The boom of Kingsley's continuing orders followed him down the hall.

oOo

The papers went wild with the news, which broke with a special evening edition. Cho Chang was speculated to have been involved in everything from the recent explosion in Diagon Alley (true) to the latest outbreak of Dragon Pox (hopefully false). Harry skimmed the article, glad that someone other than him was in the poisonous limelight of yellow journalism, and then went upstairs and took a hot bath. He felt wrecked. His muscles ached from the journey through the lever room and the battle to escape the mirror. He'd booked an appointment with the Auror Training Room first thing Monday morning to shed the additional flesh he'd acquired whilst lounging in the flat with Eddie. He'd grown far too soft.

He sighed and added a squirt of apple-scented bubbles to the water. At least he'd broken up with Eddie before learning the depths of his duplicity. He counted it as a minor victory amidst the wreckage. It was doubtful that Eddie would spend much time in lockup. They might be able to charge him with conspiracy, but his involvement in Cho's plans seemed to have been minimal, and had largely been for the purpose of keeping an eye on Harry. He wondered if Eddie's attempt to coerce him into leaving the Aurors had been part of Cho's grand plan, or if it had been an added bonus for them, brought about by Harry's doubts.

The sound of footsteps in the hall had him picking up his wand from the edge of the tub, but he put it back down when Draco leaned against the door frame and smiled at him.

"Would you like some company?"

"I bought this extra-large tub for a reason."

Draco pushed away from the door and sauntered closer. Harry was glad he hadn't removed his glasses, instead charming them with Anti-Fog, half-intending to read a book when he'd climbed in. It was so much nicer to admire Draco with visual clarity. "Is that so? And do you entertain frequently, Mr Potter?"

"Only when I find it necessary to interrogate certain criminal types. Do you have anything to confess, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco leaned over the edge of the tub and spoke in a husky voice. "I confess that I want to climb in there and ravish you, Mr Potter."

"Then why aren't you in here yet?"

A bang startled them both and then Parkinson's voice carried from somewhere in the house. "I'm taking this green room!"

"That's why." A smile played at the edges of Draco's lips.

"She's moving in now?"

"It appears that way."

Harry lifted his wand again and cast a _Colloportus_. The door slammed shut. "Good that I know several Locking Charms then, yeah?"

"Very good," Draco admitted and began to disrobe. Harry watched with approval as he removed and folded each article of clothing before setting it aside.

"You know, that trick you played with the swimming trunks at the Beauvoir's was a dirty one."

"Did you approve? That was the day I finally knew that you wanted me as much as I wanted you. You were so flustered, it was adorable. I was going to kiss you in that gazebo and then take you inside and make love to you in Anton Beauvoir's bedroom."

Harry swallowed, and then remembered the events that had followed. If only things had happened that way, Blaise Zabini would still be alive.

Draco eased into the tub, making a pleased sound as the hot water closed around him. Harry admired every inch as it descended into the bubbles and then Draco pressed against him and captured a kiss. Harry ran his hands down Draco's back and pulled him even closer.

They stopped speaking and allowed hands and mouths to take over communication, petting and stroking, kissing and sucking, until their mutual release spun in the water until whisked away by the filtering charms built into the tub.

Draco rested his head against Harry's shoulder and heaved a great sigh. "Merlin, I needed that."

Harry drifted his fingers through the silken hair at Draco's nape, just below the waterline. "Yeah, I think this should be a vital part of bath time from now on. If Pansy is moving in, does that mean you'll be staying as well?" Harry tried to keep the question casual, but his heart froze up in anticipation of the answer. He'd been serious in the mirror room when he'd told Draco he didn't want him to disappear, but we wasn't certain if Draco's reply had been given in the same spirit.

Draco lifted his head. "Are you asking me to move in?"

"Well, only if- I mean, should you-" Harry pressed his lips together in annoyance at his own stumbling words. "Yes. Yes, I am. Draco Malfoy, I would like it very much if you would move in with me."

oooOooo

Draco's heart did a slow roll into to realm of bliss and he wondered exactly when his admiration for Harry had grown into full-blown puppies and flowers _love_. Probably the first moment that Harry had gifted him with a genuine smile.

"Are you certain you're willing to put up with me?"

"Well, I'm hoping you don't plan to continue with your illegal activities. No more document forging and potions diluting, and whatever else you get up to. I'm officially an Auror again, you know. And you said you wanted to get out of it. Disappear, you said."

Draco kissed him lingeringly, once again regretting those impulsive words. After Eddie's duplicity, Harry would find it hard to genuinely trust again. Draco planned to work hard to erase his doubts, no matter how long it took.

"I don't plan to disappear. Not without bringing you with me. Helsinki is nice this time of year. The flora is _amazing_. We should visit. And although I cannot sever ties with my network immediately, I can transfer them to another party for my eventual retirement."

"Another party?"

"I believe Pansy and Gryphon will be willing to take over my business dealings."

Harry groaned. "Merlin, I hope I don't have to arrest them down the line."

Draco chuckled. "I'm sure you will pull every available string to prevent that from happening. Besides, there is still the matter of my list. Crabbe and Rosier might have been the worst, and Chang's plans have been exposed, but there are others out there that Shacklebolt is eager to get his hands on."

"And I've been thinking that you should also start working on Malfoy Manor. Bring it back to what it once was. Before the war. I can help you."

Draco went still for a long moment. He had been toying with the idea off and on, and with Harry beside him to help exorcise his demons, it no longer seemed quite as daunting a task. In lieu of an answer, he squeezed Harry tighter.

"I do have another confession. I had an ulterior motive for wanting you to re-join the Auror Division." Harry tensed in his arms and Draco continued, "Those Auror robes. Every time I see you in them I want to push you up against a wall and fuck you. You look bloody magnificent in them."

Harry relaxed so completely that his head fell back against the edge of the tub and a weak laughed escaped his lips. "You are unbelievable."

"I am perfectly believable. And Harry, rest assured that I will not leave you. Not unless you send me away. I am no Eddie Carmichael."

Harry smiled. "I trust you."

~END~

Thank you for reading, everyone! This one was super fun to write and if you haven't checked out The Blacklist yet, I highly encourage it. :D :D :D *HUGS*


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